Envirosuits and Doobies
by SympathyForTheQuarians
Summary: After being exiled from known space following a disastrous failed colonization attempt, the Migrant Fleet makes First Contact with Earth in 1968. Chaos ensues. AU Historical First Contact, Humans/Quarians.
1. Gimme Shelter

**Author's Note**: This is set in the 1960s. As such, many characters use language that is highly offensive by 2019 standards. To censor this would compromise the historical basis of the story. You've been warned.

**Chapter 1 - Gimme Shelter**

* * *

**March 5, 1968**

**Unknown Mass Relay, Unknown System (PLANET COUNT: 8)**

Exile.

It was the worst punishment the Migrant Fleet could ever bestow on one of its own. A sentence carried out only for the most severe of crimes - crimes that could actively endanger the existence of the Flotilla itself. It forced those quarians expelled in such a matter to fend for themselves in a galaxy that had grown to view them with disdain, and without regular immuno-boosters they would eventually be confined to those accursed suits full-time, without even the occasional luxury of getting out.

And now the entire quarian race had been handed down that fate. Again.

Admiral Neel'Koris vas Relnara reflected on the events of the last few years as the Migrant Fleet made its long, slow trek through the newly-activated relay. Apparently this relay had been encased in ice next to a planetoid, and its activation had done something strange to the planetoid's orbit. He hoped all would go well here, as it seemed everything that could go wrong for the quarian people _had _gone wrong lately.

It had all started with Keel'naha ("Distant Home"). The frozen, high-gravity world had been discovered by the Quarians as they were chartering The Rising Massing, the only world orbiting the newly christened star Salahiel. It was freezing in all areas except a relatively narrow part of the equator and had crushing gravity…but it could work. After over a hundred orbits of Rannoch around Tikkun, the flight from the homeworld had gone on long enough for everyone. Some factions in the Migrant Fleet had been arguing for a reclamation of Rannoch, but there were enough colonization advocates that significant resources had been poured into exploring star systems - enough to find Keel'naha.

Grimly, Neel'Koris reflected that he had been one of the strongest colonization advocates, and wondered how much of the blame he shouldered for what had happened afterwards.

A minority on the Admiralty Board argued for approaching the Citadel Council and asking for colonization rights. But three of the Admirals had countered that the Council would never allow them to settle a world, and the only viable course of action was to gather in this system and build the colonies up, biding time until the Council found them.

In the end, it took about a year. In another timeline, the Quarians would have left quickly. But in this one, they had been settling the equator for quite some time and had begun the process of turning Keel'naha into a home in earnest. When the Council renamed the world Ekuna, gave it to the elcor, and demanded they leave within a month, they stood their ground. They warned the Council that Keel'naha was their home and they would fight to defend it.

Of course, what the Council didn't know at the time was that the Admiralty Board had to unanimously override a (narrow) Conclave vote in favor of abandoning Keel'naha, as the Conclave was terrified of the prospect of war with the Council. In accordance with the law, all Admirals had then resigned, which was how Neel'Koris had gotten his position. His first few weeks as an Admiral were spent frantically hiding the liveships and preparing for war.

In the end, they surprised the Council. They had managed to take out six dreadnoughts and several hundred smaller ships before sheer force had overwhelmed the Migrant Fleet and their colony and they had surrendered. The war had cost them nearly 5% of their population, a devastating blow for an already thinly numbered and close-knit people.

The main reason Neel'Koris had kept his job despite the utter defeat in the Keel'naha War (or the Ekuna War, as the now elcor-owned planet was called) was the display he had put on for the Council afterwords. In chains and expected to beg for mercy, he instead decried the Council as bloodthirsty imperialists who were no better than the Batarian Hegemony. An enraged Councillor Terntus had demanded the destruction of the _Rayya _as punishment for the quarians' defiance, but Councilor Nelyana had talked him "down" to exile.

As the _Relnara_ continued its introductory scan of the new system, the last words the Councillors had said to him rang through his mind.

_"The quarians have proven themselves unable to follow and abide by the laws of not just Council space, but all of known space. And so the quarian people are hereby permanently exiled from galactic society. All Migrant Fleet residents and pilgrims within Citadel Space will be escorted to Relay 314 within two weeks. When you are gone, we will take the unprecedented step of destroying the Mass Relay behind you, as to ensure that you may never return."_

_"But…Councilors, this is barbaric!"_ He had tried to scream, but it came out as a whimper of protest, which Terntus seemed to enjoy. _"You chose this fate for yourselves when you failed to leave Ekuna," _he had said. _"Perhaps the unknown will contain a planet for you. It doesn't matter to us. The quarian race is no longer welcome in the chartered regions of the galaxy. Go, and NEVER return!"_

And so he had been taken away, and the nightmare had began. Every quarian that could be found was dragged back to the Migrant Fleet, including the exiles (they were kept in a prison ship under constant guard). The Terminus Systems even got in on it at the behest of the Council - the Batarians sold back their quarian slaves at a high price, perfectly fitting the Ancestor saying "Misfortune let us to this fortunate meeting." And on the appointed day, the quarians were forced into the unexplored relay, which was then destroyed (at a safe distance) at the cost of two of the nearby system's gas giants. There was no way back. They were truly alone.

Neel'Koris' depressing musings were interrupted as the ship's VI sounded off an alert.

**"Radio signals detected. Language unknown. Estimating technology level of newly discovered race."**

"Keelah…" So this was it. They had been traveling through the unknown for months on end, desperately trying to find a vacant dextro-amino protein world. They had encountered a surprising number of uncharted garden worlds, but all were levo-amino based. And so the Migrant Fleet continued searching, and continued finding empty levo worlds, until…

**"Analysis completed. Inferred planet designation: 'Earth', 'Terre', or "Dìqiú". Radio signals and satellites consistent with Level 3 Non-Spacefaring Race."**

"We found a pre-spaceflight civilization!" One of his ensigns shouted. "Ancestors, we could uplift them! Use them to find a way back to Council space!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, ensign," the Admiral replied. "Unless the scans are off, this is likely a levo-amino based planet. Not to mention that their astronomers can probably observe us, which means the sight of 50,000 ships coming towards their world is likely to scare them."

"Should we even bother?" Another ensign asked. "If it's not a dextro world-"

"We're running out of relays to search, Barri'Ortus. Relay 314 was the only one we know of that linked back to known space, and we're starting to hit a wall on discovering new ones. Perhaps this new species can help us."

Over the following weeks, as the Migrant Fleet edged closer to Earth, various observatories throughout the world noted with alarm that a large swarm of unknown celestial objects had caused a bright flash near Pluto and appeared to be rapidly closing in on Earth. Governments tried to censor the information at first, but as the Fleet grew closer amateur astronomers and the press put two and two together. By mid-May the ships had grown in the sky to the point where it was impossible for even dictatorships to BS about it, and by June a tense waiting game began when the first quarian ships made their way into Earth orbit.

In retrospect, many humans would remark that the quarians picked a **really** bad year to make First Contact.


	2. Third Stone From the Sun

**Author's Note**: Here's a quick overview of my Admiralty Board:

_* Yessi'Sheyn vas Rayya_: The calm voice of reason among the Admirals, and often the "swing vote" in controversial decisions.

* _Neel'Koris vas Relnara_: Ancestor of Zaal'Koris. Strong colonization advocate pre-Keel'naha, and often favored bold, decisive action for the Quarians. Post-Keel'naha, he's much more cautious.

* _Nezu'Gerrel vas Shellen_: Ancestor of Han'Gerrel. Unlike his would-be descendant, he is a pacifist and was one of the strongest opponents of going to war over Keel'naha.

* _Mera'Kuun vas Usela_: Xenophobic and short-tempered. Reclamation advocate pre-Keel'naha. Not impressed with humanity.

* _Nurn'Xen vas Alarei_: Ancestor of Daro'Xen. More into the soft sciences than the hard ones, and is the Migrant Fleet's leading sociologist. Egotism runs in the family.

**Chapter 2: Third Stone From the Sun**

* * *

**July 3, 1968**

**In orbit above "Earth"/"Terre", liveship _Rayya_**

"This Conclave is brought to order," Admiral Yessi'Sheyn ritually recited. "Blessed are the ancestors who kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season. Keelah se'lai."

The Conclave repeated "Keelah se'lai" back, more hopefully than they had since the start of the Second Exile (as their current predicament was being called), but with nervousness. The entirety of the Migrant Fleet was stationed in-between Earth and the red planet "Mars", and there was no more time for putting off decisions.

Once the first ships had gotten close enough to get detailed scans on the planet and intercept recent radio broadcasts, the Fleet's best engineers (and that was really saying something) had gotten to work translating two of the most common languages spoken, "English" and "rússkiy yazýk". The former was a bit easier, but still confusing, and both were easy compared to those ridiculously complex symbol-based languages. As the Migrant Fleet made its way past the system's local gas giants (one of which was one of the largest any of them had ever seen), dutifully extracting resources along the way, the engineers had finally managed to get working translators for most of the radio and video broadcasts they were receiving.

Some of the transmissions had artistic content (most commonly music, which was primitive but strangely endearing) or news broadcasts. The latter were why the meeting was being called.

"As you are all no doubt aware by now, we are currently orbiting a planet that is home to a sentient early spaceflight civilization known as 'humans' or 'homo-sapiens'," Yessi'Sheyn began. "Has the Conclave had time to review the relevant material on this species?"

"Yes, Admirals, we have," Captain Lon'Rettel vas Mosus of the Civilian Fleet said in reply, standing up as he spoke. "And I must say, we have very bad timing."

"The situation is not optimal, true," Admiral Nezu'Gerrel spoke for the first time. He was getting old, and wondered why the Lon'Rettel and the rest of the civilians loved him so much. "But this new species presents an excellent opportunity for our people. Uplifting is never an easy process, but-"

"Uplifting?!" Admiral Mera'Kuun could stay silent no more. He didn't trust any aliens, even undiscovered ones, and the translations had done little to assuage his concerns. "Have you even read these reports, Nezu'Gerrel? Aside from using incredibly primitive technology that actively damages their environment, their entire planet is apparently embroiled in some sort of massive social crisis."

"It's more than just a social crisis," Admiral Neel'Koris replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Allow _me_ to elaborate," replied the ever-so-humble Admiral Nurn'Xen, sociologist extraordinaire. "Humanity is a Level 3 Pre-Spaceflight Species on the standard Council scale - electricity and developed industry, but only rudimentary spacefaring capabilities limited to satellites and slower than light ships with limited lifespans. However, their social development lags significantly behind compared to most species at this stage. Skin tone and gender are still important class distinctions, though both of these are being challenged in the current environment."

She activated her omni-tool and began looking through recent historical human videos. "As we have gotten closer to this planet, it has become possible for us to intercept video broadcasts nearly instantaneously. Many have caught my attention, but one recurring theme are the protests. Protests against their leaders, against each other, and as of the last few weeks, protests against us." The last bit caused the optimism in the Conclave to quickly recede. "To be clear, the news of our impending arrival is not the root cause of this unrest. It began before we entered the system, though we seem to have made it worse. I've managed to intercept and translate a repeat broadcast of a news report from several months before we entered through the Mass Relay."

Her omni-tool connected to the Conclave's main computer and the black-and-white video began playing, dated in both standard human time ("October 21, 1967") and Citadel time. The quality was terrible, but the Khelish subtitles translating the news report provided enough context for the images to be understood.

_"Today, more than 50,000 Americans [NATION, RESIDENTS] marched on the Pentagon [MILITARY] to demand an end to American involvement in Vietnam [NATION]. Fathers, housewives, and veterans created a diverse crowd as they made their way from the Lincoln Memorial to the headquarters of the American military."_

The video was silent for a moment, and members of the Conclave could be heard gasping as many saw images of "humans" for the first time. They looked exactly like the asari! Well, not _exactly_ like them, they had hair and different skin tones…actually, they didn't look all that different from _quarians_...

_"As they reached the Pentagon, they were greeted by military police, and the peaceful demonstration soon turned violent"_, the narrator continued, and the quarians saw uniformed men brandishing primitive weapons confronting the demonstrators. The news report continued for some time, with interviews with some of the protestors, until Nurn'Xen finally stopped the video.

"The nation this footage is from, the United States of America, is currently engaged in a conflict with a smaller nation, Vietnam, which is itself part of a larger global conflict between it and the other planet's main nation, the Soviet Union. From what I can ascertain, their 'Cold War' is named as such because the two powers have never directly engaged each other militarily, despite coming very close several years ago. The 'Vietnam War' is currently tearing the social fabric of the United States apart, and it is a very volatile environment. To make matters worse, they are engaged in a divisive political election campaign. Hence, I argue we should not land our delegation there."

A captain from the Heavy Fleet raised an objection before Mera'Kuun could. "If we must do this, then landing in one of their cities will just cause the panic to escalate further."

"I agree," Nezu'Gerrel chimed in, much to the surprise of Mera'Kuun. "Fortunately, Admiral Sheyn has shared her reason for calling this meeting with me. The matter will resolve itself soon."

"What?" Many members of the conclave simultaneously replied.

* * *

**Excerpts from The New York Times, May-June 1968**

**APOLLO 7 SET FOR JULY 4 LAUNCH: LIMITED-USE "BARE BONES" ORBITAL STATION INTENDED FOR SHORT FIRST CONTACT**

_May 20, 1968_

WASHINGTON, D.C. - Addressing the press for the first time about the unidentified objects in the sky, President Lyndon Baines Johnson confirmed that they are indeed alien vessels of unknown design. "At this time we can observe that the ships appear to be heading steadily towards our planet, and the majority should be in orbit by June. After careful consultation with NASA and leading researchers in the private sector, we believe there are roughly 1,000 ships in total." (This reporter questioned the President on that claim, with some observatories reporting ship estimates as high as 60,000, but did not receive further clarification.) Johnson then confirmed that he had signed an executive order modifying the timetable and nature of the Apollo project.

Apollo 7, previously intended to be a three-man mission that would have included the first live television broadcast in space, will instead be a one-man mission on a small spacecraft designed to rendezvous with the alien ships and make First Contact. Veteran astronaut Captain Walter "Wally" Schirra has been chosen for the Apollo 7 mission. If all goes well, he will be the first human to make contact with an alien race.

When asked about the possible risks posed to the Captain and humanity as a whole, President Johnson replied that Schirra personally volunteered for the mission and the world needed to "give the aliens the benefit of the doubt. They are technologically superior to us, and we can't resort to war with them as a first option." Some reporters said the rhetoric seemed strange coming from a President who had escalated American involvement in Vietnam, to which Johnson countered "These aliens aren't communists. The two situations are not comparable in the least."

The Kremlin has yet to issue a statement on the Apollo 7 program, but sources inside the Soviet government report that the Politburo is unhappy the United States will make contact before they do and intend to make sure they also receive technological benefits in the event that the alien race proves to be peaceful.

**KENNEDY CLAIMS VICTORY IN CALIFORNIA, CALLS FOR "HAND OF FRIENDSHIP" TO ALIENS; EUGENE MCCARTHY DROPS OUT**

_June 5, 1968_

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA - Choosing to close out his statewide victory in California's capital, Robert F. Kennedy addressed a crowd of enthusiastic supporters Tuesday night as he called for peace and brotherhood between races and towards the unidentified aliens heading towards Earth.

"The last few months have seen our nation's spirit tested, its creed disregarded by proponents of hatred and violence who have taken some of our brightest and most compassionate minds from us," Kennedy said, apparently referencing the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination in April. "In the words of Thomas Paine, these are the times that try men's souls. Now, in this period of great uncertainty, we have been introduced to yet another, even greater uncertainty. Many fear that these aliens have come to weaken us, or destroy us. But when fear demands we listen to it, above all other emotions and higher thought, that is the time when we must listen to reason."

Kennedy argued for giving the aliens the benefit of the doubt, and implored all audience members to wait for the result of the Apollo 7's rendezvous with the ships currently stationed above Earth.

* * *

**The White House**

**July 1, 1968**

President Lyndon B. Johnson: "So if stoners, rioting negroes, and George fucking Wallace wasn't enough for me to deal with, now we've got aliens. Clark, I love this job and wouldn't trade it for the world, but this is…[sighs] Christ almighty, what a mess."

Defense Secretary Clark Clifford: "I agree, Mr. President, but it appears we have little choice in the matter. Your decision on the Apollo 7 seems like the best way to deal with the problem immediately."

Johnson [eyebrow raised]: "That so? Usually you just pretend to agree with me. Sometimes I wonder if I should've kept Robert around."

Clifford [slightly uncomfortable due to that jab]: "Mr. President, it is my job to offer you my opinion and follow your orders regardless of it. It is true we sometimes disagree on policy-

Johnson: "Disagree? McNamara wanted me to give in to those hippies! And you haven't been much better!"

Clifford [carefully]: "To be honest, sir, Vietnam hasn't exactly been at the forefront of my mind lately."

Johnson: "Really now? That's interesting, because I have had a lot of thoughts on our war."

Clifford [thinking _God, please don't let this go where I think it's going_]: "As…as they relate to the aliens sir?"

Johnson [slyly smiling]: "Yes. The Soviets can't get their asses in gear, which means we get to meet them first. If they're hostile then we're not going to win. Don't give me that look, Clark, you know what we're up against. But if we're first, and they perhaps need a place to settle down or some resources for their ships, we might able to make some…trades."

Clifford: "Trades?"

Johnson: "Transportation and food technology for the press to eat up. For us, behind the scenes…weapons. Weapons we can use and the Viet Cong and their buddies up north can't."

Clifford [terrified]: "But when the Soviets find out…"

Johnson: "We stall them, as long as we can, until the war is won. Then we deal with the political blowback."

As Clark Clifford left the White House, he felt a chill go down his spine. He was not opposed to finishing the job in Vietnam, but this…this could turn Vietnam into a smoking crater if the aliens were as advanced as they suspected. If the President got his way, this was going to get much worse before it got better - not for them, but for the Vietnamese.


	3. Hold On, I'm Comin'

**Chapter 3 - Hold On, I'm Comin'**

* * *

**In orbit above Cape Kennedy Air Force Station**

**July 4, 1968**

Wally Schirra was afraid.

It felt wrong. He had been in space twice before, and it was almost a second home. The great unknown, scary to many, had always appealed to him in a way that made his current position in the Apollo program an absolute dream job. But as he began his third trip into space, the Earth's atmosphere gradually disappearing behind him, he sensed a strangely familiar feeling took over, one he hadn't felt since his first flight.

_This is new._ New because he wasn't just going to be accompanied by satellites and space stations. This time, there was an entire alien race waiting for him. And as much as he hoped things would go well, if they didn't then he wasn't long for the earth (_or space_, he thought dryly).

_"Apollo 7, this is Houston. We can confirm you have exited atmosphere, you should make contact with the alien ships soon."_

"Roger, Houston, all systems green in Apollo 7," he replied, and not a moment later the Migrant Fleet came into view.

Schirra gasped and muttered "Sweet Jesus…" under his breath. There were thousands, no, _tens_ of thousands of ships in orbit. They came in every shape and size, seemingly a hodgepodge of various different alien designs (but then again, what did he know about alien designs?). Even in this stationary position, they still danced in formation in and around each other. Every direction he looked, there were ships. Incredible, sometimes ugly, but always breathtaking _ships_.

_"Apollo 7, this is Houston. What's your status?"_

He didn't reply, still transfixed by the site of the alien vessels.

_"Apollo 7, this is Houston. Repeat: what's your status?"_

"Houston, this is Apollo 7. I have rendezvoused with the alien ships."

_"Roger that, Apollo 7. Please describe the alien ships."_

"Houston, they should have sent a poet. In 500 years maybe we'll have ships like these. There's got to be at least…50,000 I'd say, probably more. I can't identify the material they're made of, but it doesn't look anything we have on Earth. Some of these ships are as big as cities. One looks like a giant oval with a small stick protruding from the side, and I-"

He was cut off by a transmission. But not one from Houston.

* * *

**In orbit above "Earth"/"Terre", liveship _Rayya_**

**July 4, 1968**

The five Admirals watched the live transmission from the "Cape Kennedy Air Force Station" in silence. It was an incredibly primitive and inefficient way to reach space, but it would work for the humans' purposes. Across the Migrant Fleet, quarians peered out the windows of their ships hoping to catch a glimpse of the primitive spacecraft, the likes of which hadn't been since before their Ancestors had discovered Mass Effect technology.

Eventually the rocket and other launch-dependent parts of the "Apollo" broke up and disintegrated in the atmosphere, and a small white object was visible.

"Alright, this is it." Neel'Koris broke the silence. "Can we make contact with the 'Apollo 7' spacecraft?"

"Yes, of course we can," Nurn'Xen replied with a bit more sarcasm than was necessary for the occasion. "It uses a combination of terrestrial radio technology and satellites, but we should easily be able to send a transmission that the captain can hear. To prevent confusion, we can open a separate channel from the one he is using to communicate with his superiors on the ground."

Yessi'Sheyn shifted uncomfortably in position, and Neel'Koris read her thoughts. "I know, Yessi. I'm nervous too. But perhaps we can help these people, and they us. We are running out of options."

Yessi'Sheyn let out a quiet, high-pitched growl, the quarian equivalent of an anxious sigh, but nodded. "Very well. Neel'Koris, would you like to do the honors?"

Neel'Koris didn't reply, instead bringing up his omni-tool and scanning local transmissions for unknown contacts. A moment later, they were connected to the ship.

"Hello," Neel'Koris began in heavily-accented English, as his message was simultaneously broadcasted to the _Apollo 7_ and the entire Migrant Fleet (the latter with Khelish translation). The language was strange, elegant and savage-sounding at the same time. "My name is Admiral Neel'Koris of the Quarian Migrant Fleet. Can you understand me?"

Silence for a moment; likely the captain was frantically relaying everything to his superiors.

_"Yes,"_ a voice came back, and everyone in the Fleet held their breath. _"How can you understand_ me?"

Neel'Koris thought it a rather anticlimactic question for First Contact with an alien race, but he supposed it made sense. "We have been monitoring your satellites and terrestrial radio broadcasts for approximately three Earth months, since shortly after we entered the Solar System."

"On behalf of the quarian people, I welcome you to our home, the Migrant Fleet," he continued after receiving no reply. "We come in peace, and ask for the same from humanity."

Several more moments of silence. _"My name is Captain Walter Schirra of the United States of America. I have come to negotiate on behalf of my country. We also wish for peace, but will defend ourselves."_

Nurn'Xen made a disapproving sound; she likely would have preferred a different country to negotiate with. "Captain Walter'Schirra vas Apollo 7, we accept your presence as a diplomatic envoy for the United States," Neel'Koris replied. "We will be sending a small ship to meet up with your own. This ship will have a docking hangar, and should allow you to safely exit your own ship with no issues. After our meeting has concluded, we will return you to Earth." It wasn't really a 'ship', per se, but Schirra _was _a Captain, and in charge of the thing. Plus it was wise to be respectful during First Contact.

Another pause. _"Admiral Neel'Koris, the United States finds these terms acceptable, provided we have your word no harm will come to myself."_

Neel'Koris looked at the other Admirals, who all quickly signaled their assent. "You have our word, Captain Walter'Schirra. In sight of the Ancestors, we pledge safe passage for you and the _Apollo 7_."

_"Thank you, Admiral. I will wait here for your arrival. Will I need supplemental oxygen to survive within your ship?"_

The Admirals had discussed this before, and ultimately concluded the best solution was to isolate the hangar area from the rest of the ship's air filtration system, at the cost of having to order a decontamination for the hangar later. After all, it was unlikely that primitive early spaceflight aliens had spacesuits with unlimited air.

"Captain Walter'Schirra, the atmosphere of Earth is a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen, correct?"

_"Correct. Our atmosphere contains 78% nitrogen and 21% oxygen, with trace amounts of other elements."_

The Admirals were not surprised. Other than the volus, it seemed _every _species breathed nitrogen and oxygen, more or less. Neel'Koris wondered if it was the Protheans' doing.

"You should be able to breathe the atmosphere within the hangar of the _Tonbay_, the ship that will greet you, without any issues. As a precaution, we will be temporarily sealing the hangar and isolating its air filtration system from the rest of the ship, and ask that you remain within the hangar for this first meeting."

_"Admiral, that sounds fine to me, but Houston - my superiors - want to know why I can't explore the rest of the ship."_

"We need to make sure you have no diseases which could infect us," Neel'Koris half-lied. The immune system of the quarians was a topic he wanted to personally discuss with their leaders.

Yet another pregnant pause hung over the line. _"Affirmative, Admiral Neel'Koris. The United States accepts your conditions and looks forward to diplomatic negotiations."_

"Thank you, Captain. The _Tonbay_ will be arriving to greet you within an Earth-standard hour. Terminating signal now," he replied, shutting off the communicator as he did so.

* * *

**Woody Creek, Colorado**

**July 4, 1968**

"The Longest Hour."

Hunter S. Thompson said his thought aloud to nobody in particular as he took another drag off his joint. That was the good thing about pot. You always found yourself talking about your ideas out loud. Ideas and drugs were good. But drugs and no ideas, like the San Francisco types...blech.

It was an apt a name as ever for an hour that would likely go down in history. He cringed as he considered that a peaceful First Contact, which this apparently was, could probably make the "Summer of Aliens" (_they're coming to me now_) even more obnoxious than last year's Summer of Love. At least a war would have made for some good news columns.

Wait.

As Hunter finished his joint and smashed it in his ashtray, he contemplated subjects that had slipped the mind of most people in the last view days: Vietnam. The election...Kennedy vs. Nixon. Hope vs. Fear. And aliens.

That was it.

Taking a legal cigarette out of his pocket, he got to his typewriter and started working on his next book: _Hope, Fear and Aliens On the Campaign Trail '68_.

It was time for some fucking journalism.

* * *

**In orbit above Earth_, _****_Apollo 7_**

**July 4, 1968**

The hour was up, and Wally Schirra could see the alien ship making its way towards him. Astonishingly, it seemed to completely ignore the gravitational pull of the Earth, and what he presumed was a hangar bay opened once they were within a few hundred meters of each other. Looking at the ship up close, he thought it seemed...old, somehow. The "paint" was inconsistent and some of the parts looked like they were repaired and sourced by a third party. He couldn't be sure, but this "Migrant Fleet" didn't exactly look state-of-the-art.

All of his thoughts immediately turned to the aliens as the _Apollo 7 _was released from the tractor beam and gently guided to the ground by some sort of mechanical claw. They were wearing suits. A precaution against his germs? Maybe, but the suits weren't uniform. Each alien seemed to have a uniquely colored one, reflecting rank, or perhaps...personality?

_Well, only one way to find out_. He opened the door and gently walked down the surface, finding the gravity to be quite pleasant, almost Earth-norm.

Every eye in the room was on him. He removed his helmet and ignored the cries of shock as the aliens saw his face for the first time.

"My name is Captain Walter Schirra. I come in peace, on behalf of the United States of America and the human race."

* * *

**In orbit above Earth, civilian ship** **_Tonbay_**

_"My name is Captain Walter Schirra. I come in peace, on behalf of the United States of America and the human race."_

As the alien's words were translated into Khelish, Admiral Neel'Koris was the first to step forward. The Migrant Fleet Marines kept their weapons down for now, but in clear view of the human.

"Captain Walter'Schirra vas Apollo 7, welcome to the Migrant Fleet. I am Admiral Neel'Koris, the one you spoke to on the communicator." His English was still a bit rough, but easily understandable, and he reached into one of his suit compartments. "I have a translator here with English installed. It should make communication easier. Hold it up to your mouth when you wish to speak."

Schirra nodded and accepted the strange looking device, speaking into what looked like the top of it.

"Thank you for the friendly welcome. It is an honor to be the first human to make contact with an alien race, and I am happy this contact has been peaceful."

"As are we, captain," another quarian replied. "I am Admiral Nezu'Gerrel," he said. "We are part of the Admiralty Board, the leadership of the Migrant Fleet. We are sure you have many questions, and we will try to answer them to the best of our ability."

The first human to meet aliens did indeed have a lot of questions - from the White House, from NASA, and most of all from himself.

He started with a simple one. "Why do you call me 'Walter Schirra vas Apollo 7'?"

"Quarians are a nomadic race. We have no planets; our home is the Migrant Fleet," Neel'Koris explained. "'Vas' refers to the ship the quarian is currently resident in, and "Nar" refers to their ship of birth. I, for example, am Neel'Koris vas Relnara nar Shellen."

"I see," Schirra replied, digesting the information. "I suppose that would make me Walter'Schirra vas Apollo 7 nar New Jersey." _Christ, that's a mouthful_, he thought but didn't say. "But my friends call me Wally, and my bosses Captain Schirra."

"On the subject of the Apollo, Captain Schirra, I take it by the name that this is the seventh such spacecraft you have launched?" Nezu'Gerrel asked. "Your species looks to be in the early stages of spaceflight."

"That we are," Schirra said proudly. "My country has pledged to put a man on the moon by the end of the decade."

"We can most likely assist you with that. Traveling from here to the moon isn't that difficult at all, especially with the nearby Element Zero reserve."

"Nezu!" Neel'Koris yelped, and Captain Schirra seemed surprised. These aliens had _not _discovered their Prothean ruins on Mars, and that was a subject the Admirals wanted to address once they were on Earth.

"Element Zero?" the Captain asked.

"It, along with the Mass Relays, is what enables our ships to travel through space at speeds faster than light," Neel'Koris said, grateful the Captain hadn't questioned the slip-up. "We arrived in the Solar System by way of a previously deactivated Mass Relay, encased in ice next to the planet you call Pluto." Neel'Koris found it odd that they referred to a dwarf that size as a planet, but he supposed it could be chalked up to them not knowing enough about it.

The questioning continued like this for hours. Walter Schirra told the quarians of humans and their history, and the Admirals in turn relayed the history of the quarians, including their exile from their homeworld by the Geth (but not including the Second Exile, not yet). Finally, the Admirals told him of their plan to land the _Tonbay _off the shores of Geneva, Switzerland, and they had had their first real disagreement.

"Admirals, why won't you be landing within the United States? And why won't I be returned to my country of origin? _We _were the nation which made First Contact with you, not the Swiss."

"Captain Schirra," Nezu'Gerrel began carefully, "You must consider our position. We are humanity's first encounter with intelligent life not from your homeworld. The 'Cold War' between your country and the Soviet Union might be made worse if we were to be seen as favoring one nation over another. Your aircraft should allow you to easily return to the United States. We want to help the human race, but we don't want to exacerbate any human conflicts, especially considering the nature of the Fleet."

"Admiral, I thought we agreed to wait until Earth to broach this topic..." Neel'Koris interjected.

"I believe Captain Schirra has earned a certain degree of trust. They are going to find out soon, so he might as well be the first to know," Nezu'Gerrel replied.

"Know _what_?" Schirra asked.

The two looked at each other, and back to the captain, before Neel'Koris finally answered.

"Captain, we are a communist society."


	4. Light My Fire

**Author's Note:** The quarians are, in fact, a communist society - there is no private industry, resources are collectively managed and distributed among the Migrant Fleet, etc. It fits the communist model quite well. Now, it was perhaps not a good idea for Neel'Koris and Nezu'Gerrel to reveal that without some more context as to _why _the Migrant Fleet is like this, as we will see...

**Chapter 4 - Light My Fire**

* * *

**In orbit above Geneva, Switzerland, civilian ship _Tonbay_**

**July 5, 1968**

Admirals Neel'Koris and Nezu'Gerrel looked at the video screen as the _Tonbay _made its final descent into Geneva.

After initial First Contact, the Admirals had set up a direct line of communication with NASA in Houston. The humans on the other end of the line seemed grateful for the peaceful encounter, but like the Captain were annoyed at the _Tonbay _choosing to land in Switzerland. Neel'Koris had mollified them somewhat by informing them that the _Tonbay _would also stop in Washington, D.C. following the initial Geneva landing to return Captain Schirra. Once they made the communication public and he was being broadcasted live around the world, the Admiral had delivered a simple message of peace and cooperation, promising to share details of his people at Geneva.

Yet somehow, they doubted it would be this simple. Nurn'Xen was annoyed that she wasn't being included in the initial delegation party, but the other Admirals unanimously agreed that her...mannerisms...were not appropriate for First Contact, and they couldn't send the entire Board in the event that the humans proved hostile. Yessi'Sheyn was anxious, and Mera'Kuun was his usual surly self. None were exactly enthusiastic about this, but the quarians needed friends. They needed help, even if they had to help out a lot in turn.

"I've never been to Geneva before," Captain Schirra said, breaking the silence. "It's a beautiful city."

"I agree," Nezu'Gerrel replied. They were still in the hangar, but a live feed of the city outside was being provided by external cameras. "This 'Palace of Nations' seems like a good place to send our delegation. As I said about an hour ago, we will be landing off of Lake Geneva right next to the Palace."

"Do you think they will agree with your plan?" Schirra asked. "For...'uplifting' us?"

"I certainly hope so," Nezu'Gerrel said. "But the tensions and conflict of the Cold War will not go away. Both your nation and the Soviets will want extrasolar colonies, mass effect-based weapon technology, and other wonders your people simply are not ready for yet."

"But we _are _ready for the Solar System?"

"Your system has a remarkable number of second-tier habitable planets. While changing an atmosphere is outside of our technological reach, setting up habitats should be simple enough. It will satisfy your curiosity to explore the stars, but at a rate that can be managed."

"And the rest of your technology? You think they're just going to let you dish it out incrementally like that?"

"We have no choice," Neel'Koris said, reminded that humans used some odd expressions. "At the stage of development we are moving you towards, most species already have a unified government and social order. Your closest analogue, the 'United Nations', is both lacking in power and headquartered in your own country."

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing," Schirra replied uneasily. "Things are about to change a lot on this little blue rock."

* * *

**Los Angeles, California**

_The aliens are coming!_

_So we heard Houston say!_

_The aliens are coming!_

_So we must-_

No, no, that was wrong! Jim Morrison sighed and crumpled up the piece of paper. His poetry wasn't quite where he wanted it to be for this occasion. He had to write something _great_, and maybe not with a song attached to it. More people needed to see the written side of his art.

Still, it was hard to be frustrated on a day like this. Aliens! _Peaceful _aliens! Where were they from? Why did they have so many ships? And most importantly, _when could he talk to one_?

As he started on yet another poem attempt, his mind drifted to The Doors' last album. _Waiting for the Aliens _was good, but if only he had had a little more advance notice on them coming. Maybe the aliens would like music, and he could drift into a wonderful new plane of thought with one of them when he began working on his next project.

* * *

**In orbit above Geneva, Switzerland, civilian ship _Tonbay_**

_"You know that it would be untrue_

_You know that I would be a liar_

_If I was to say it to you_

_Girl we couldn't get much higher_

_Come on baby light my fire_

_Come on baby light my fire_

_Try to set the night on fire!"_

Nela'Shar vas Tonbay found herself tapping her feet and humming along with the human music as the _Tonbay _made its way to the surface of Earth. As per the Captain's orders, civilians in the ship were free to listen to public unrestricted broadcasts, and she had found a local radio station dedicated to "rock" music. She found it odd to name a genre of music after a solid mineral, but it was catchy and fun nonetheless. It reminded her of old recordings of ancient asari music - the quality wasn't the best, but something about that gave it its charm. One music group in particular, called "The Doors", had caught her attention when the _Tonbay _had been intercepting terrestrial radio signals on the way to Earth, and she found to her delight that they were popular enough to be heard on these radio stations in Geneva.

She had surreptitiously recorded several of the music broadcasts on her omni-tool while on duty, and over the following months had been listening to them while working. Nurn'Xen had laughed in that annoying Nurn'Xen-y way when she had asked about getting more music, but nonetheless obliged, and it was a good way to familiarize herself with this "English" language and the humans' culture. Apparently humans were beginning to challenge some of the social norms of their society - some of them were, anyways - and the result was an outpouring of musical creativity. Something about the simplicity of the instruments paired with the singing had captivated her.

Nela was snapped out of her thoughts by the voice of the Captain Nara'Veel vas Tonbay. _"All hands, we have arrived in the human city of Geneva. Myself and Admirals Neel'Koris and Nezu'Gerrel will be serving as the First Contact delegation. Everyone else is to remain in the_ Tonbay _until we return or new orders have been given. XO __Zorah has the deck."_

As Nela looked out the windows and saw the large crowd of humans gathering around the ship, she felt content for the first time in years. These new humans were going to be good to the quarians, she just knew it. And maybe she could get a job at one of those radio stations...

* * *

**Excerpt from _Hope, Fear, and Aliens on the Campaign Trail '68 _by Hunter S. Thompson:**

People get the quarians wrong. They call them communists, and when it comes to how the Migrant Fleet did what it needed to do to keep them from going extinct, that's mostly right. But they're not, not really. They're collective opportunists.

What do I mean by that? Put yourself in the shoes of a quarian c. 1950, before they met us but before they got kicked out of the rest of the galaxy. You're a disrespected contradiction: hated for making the Geth, but valued for your engineering skills. Laughed at as a beggar and a thief, all the while knowing the reason you have to beg is because of the invisible Geth-shaped weight on your shoulders. You get paid less, are respected by almost nobody, and you can't even settle on a planet that _you_ found, because you're being "punished" forever.

Who are you loyal to? The other 17 million bastards who also drew the short straw in life.

Most humans look out for number one, but quarians look out for each other. Pre-Contact, people said that was the language of the hippies. But when you're in a galaxy with trillions of other aliens, most of which call you suit rats with the gusto of George Wallace shouting nigger, "looking out for each other" means prioritizing those 17 million, and to hell with everyone else. That's what makes quarians different from Marx's ideal. If a bunch of aliens came to the communist utopia of the future, kicked the workers out of it, and forced them into a galaxy that hated them, they'd get pretty damn xenophobic too.

* * *

**The Palace of Nations**

**July 5, 1968**

The most important moment in human history did not turn out the way anyone thought it would. Pessimists predicted the aliens would use their fleet to invade and subjugate the Earth. Optimists countered that the wondrous technology of the aliens would end war and usher humanity into an incredible future.

Both and neither were true at the same time. Shit, as they say, really hit the fan.

Most historians, when analyzing the Geneva Summit, contextualize their analysis by taking each of Neel'Koris' and Nezu'Gerrel's "bombshells" and examining them individually, as trying to take on all at once inevitably leads to a paper or book which much greater scope than depth.

First was their history.

* * *

SOVIET AMBASSADOR TO THE UNITED NATIONS YAKOV MALIK: "...Admirals, I believe the most prudent question for us to begin with would be the one we have been asking for three months: why have you come to Earth?"

ADMIRAL NEEL'KORIS VAS RELNARA: "We are not the only species in the galaxy. There is another galactic community, based around an ancient space station known as the Citadel. We were recently exiled from this galactic community, and are searching for a new home. We found your planet by coincidence."

UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR TO THE UNITED NATIONS ARTHUR GOLDBERG: "So you are criminals? Will these aliens come looking for you?"

NEEL'KORIS: "No, they will not. We were forced out against our will after attempting to colonize a planet. We lost the resulting war to defend it."

YAKOV MALIK: "And why did they force you off this planet? Did you take it from another species?"

ADMIRAL NEZU'GERREL VAS SHELLEN: "No, Ambassador, we were not allowed to settle a planet. Approximately one Earth century ago, we created a race of machines known as the Geth. Council law does not allow for advanced machine intelligences, and so we programmed them to be simple enough to follow orders but not advanced enough to have awareness. Unfortunately, by sharing processing power, they eventually 'woke up' around 70 Earth years ago. When we attempted to shut them down, they massacred the vast majority of our population, and we were reduced to living on thousands of nomadic ships - the Migrant Fleet."

ARTHUR GOLDBERG: "Yes, Captain Schirra described your war with the Geth in his report. But this story has some issues."

NEEL'KORIS: "I beg your pardon, Ambassador?"

ARTHUR GOLDBERG: "You accidentally created a race of intelligent machines who nearly destroyed your people, and you were punished for this? What sort of government would punish you by demanding you stay off of any planet, even one you've discovered yourselves? This 'Council' seems more of a caricature than a real government."

NEZU'GERREL: "Ambassador, I can assure you that our story is true. You can see the archived recordings for yourself. The Council wanted to make us into an example, a lesson of what happens to those who create artificial intelligence. Prior to our Exile from the known galaxy, we were commonly stereotyped as beggars and thieves, and often suffered discrimination as a result."

That did it.

* * *

**Interview of Admiral Neel'Koris vas Relnara by Mike Wallace of CBS News**

**July 11, 1968**

ADMIRAL NEEL'KORIS VAS RELNARA: "As I have tried to make clear, Mr. Wallace, we do not wish to interfere in the internal politics of Earth nations."

MIKE WALLACE: "But the terms of the Geneva Agreement make that impossible. 500,000 quarians are going to be living in the United States soon. You're going to have thoughts and opinions on the way we run our society."

NEEL'KORIS: "We will, yes, but our main concern is with the improvement of your technology-"

MIKE WALLACE: "Admiral, you yourself said that quarians suffer from discrimination in the wider galaxy. Here in America, we're having a very divisive debate on the subject of discrimination, and what to do about it. Will you add to this conversation?"

NEEL'KORIS: "Our purpose is not to actively shape the direction of your politics. We will ask our opinion if offered."

MIKE WALLACE: "That's an evasive answer."

NEEL'KORIS: "Mr. Wallace, while we sympathize with the goals of the Civil Rights Movement, we are not seeking to-."

MIKE WALLACE: "So you sympathize with African-Americans and others being discriminated against?"

NEEL'KORIS: "Yes, of course I do!" [pause] "But..."

* * *

**The New York Times, July 14, 1968:**

**GEORGE WALLACE: "SUIT RATS" NOT WELCOME IN ALABAMA **

Responding for the first time to Neel'Koris vas Relnara's highly controversial CBS interview, George Wallace pledged at a campaign stop in Charlotte, North Carolina to oppose quarian residency in Alabama.

"Folks, segregation worked just fine before the eggheads and elitists up in Washington started telling us how the South needs to be," Wallace said. "And now these aliens, who know nothing about Earth and even less about Dixie, want to tell us how to run our governments! Well I can tell you right now that the Council had it right when it kicked those suit rats out, and I won't let the great state of Alabama get infiltrated by communists! As President, I will not allow the Geneva Agreement to infect our society with alien Marxism, and pledge to closely monitor and deport any troublemakers."

Wallace's remarks were immediately condemned by Alabama Governor Albert Brewer, who pledged to work closely with the quarian leadership to ensure a smooth and safe arrival for all new residents of the state. Wallace has steadily risen in the polls over the last week, and appears to be rapidly consolidating the anti-quarian vote in the upcoming Presidential election. Both Robert Kennedy and Richard Nixon have pledged to uphold the Geneva Agreement and its provisions for technological and social integration.

* * *

**The Palace of Nations**

**July 5, 1968**

After their history was revealed, the Geneva Summit quickly switched to the details of quarian plans for integration and technological uplifting. Neel'Koris knew ahead of time that he was adding "fuel to the fire," as the humans said, but they were smart enough to figure out why the Admirals would choose to land the majority of the fleet on barren, desolate Mars if he didn't tell them.

FRENCH REPRESENTATIVE TO THE UNITED NATIONS ARMAND BERARD: "Admirals, we have established that you are looking for a new home, and 17 million is a number Earth can easily support. But it will be considerably more difficult to find the space necessary to land your ships, simply because of how numerous they are."

NEEL'KORIS: "I understand, and thankfully we already have a solution. While the majority of our civilian population will live on Earth for the time being, we plan to land most of our ships on Mars. We will be constructing sealed environmental habitats as well, and I would like to formally invite any interested human scientists to join us on our outposts there."

ARTHUR GOLDBERG: "I'm sure many of our scientists are jumping with joy like schoolchildren right about now." [laughter] "If I may, Admiral, why Mars? We know of no resources that could be of great use to you there."

[Silence.]

ARTHUR GOLDBERG: "Admiral?"

NEEL'KORIS: "Ambassador, people of Earth, it is time we told you about the Protheans."

And so they did, and there was much shouting.

* * *

Eventually, the shouting stopped. Briefly.

LORD CARADON, PERMANENT REPRESENTATIVE OF THE UNITED KINGDOM TO THE UNITED NATIONS: "Admirals, please tell us of your plans for the galaxy. As a species, we have only recently begun to reach for the heavens, and now because of you they are within our grasp."

NEZU'GERREL: "We understand and share your desire to explore the galaxy. However, you must remember that a species at your stage of development normally has not yet discovered mass effect technology. Without a unified government, you may find it difficult to control colonies beyond the Mass Relay-"

YAKOV MALIK: "With all due respect, Admirals, are you saying we will be confined to Earth?"

NEEL'KORIS: "Not at all. Ordinarily, most species must leave their home system in order to establish colonies beyond their homeworlds. Your Solar System, however, has no less than four planets which could be made habitable through the use of sealed environments: Mars and the gas giant moons of Europa, Enceladus, and Titan. We propose that joint human-quarian colonies be established on these four planets within 15 Earth years, for the purpose of both settlement and harvesting the resources of Saturn, Jupiter, and the Martian ruins. During this time, the Migrant Fleet will continue to search the Mass Relays for a world which contains dextro-protein based life. Should we find such a world, we will begin settling it while maintaining a presence here on Earth and allowing any quarians to stay here permanently if they so choose."

He expected looks of awe and wonder. Maybe even cheering. Instead, shockingly, they looked _skeptical_.

ARTHUR GOLDBERG: "Apologies, Admiral, but could you please clarify what you meant by 'joint human-quarian colonies'?"

NEEL'KORIS: "We propose that the human intrasolar colonies be jointly administered and owned by the Migrant Fleet and the United Nations, the latter on behalf of the human race."

That didn't go over well.

* * *

**Headlines around the world, July 6-7, 1968**

**ALIEN RUINS ON MARS! QUARIANS CLAIM ANCIENT ALIEN CIVILIZATION MONITORED PRIMITIVE HUMANS!**

**THE NEW SPACE RACE: WHO WILL GET THE GAS GIANTS?**

**QUARIANS AND HUMANS DISAGREE ON TERMS OF SPACE COLONIES: UNITED STATES, SOVIET UNION STRONGLY OPPOSE UNITED NATIONS OWNERSHIP**

**PRESIDENT JOHNSON: "THE SOVIET UNION WILL NOT RECEIVE ONE QUARIAN IMMIGRANT MORE THAN AMERICA DOES"**

**POLL: WALLACE, KENNEDY, NIXON EVENLY MATCHED: ELECTION EXPECTED TO BE CLOSEST SINCE 1960**

**QUARIANS LAY OUT "UPLIFT" PLAN: TRANSPORTATION, MEDICAL TECHNOLOGY MAIN FOCUS**

**REPORT: WHITE HOUSE "DETERMINED" TO GET ACCESS TO QUARIAN WEAPONRY**


	5. I Want You Back

**Chapter 5 - I Want You Back**

_Oh, the Council's threat'ning_

_Their very lives today_

_If they don't get some shelter_

_Oh yeah, they're gonna fade away_

_/_

_War and Geth!_

_They're just past the Relay_

_They're just past the Relay_

_/_

_War and Geth!_

_They're just past the Relay_

_They're just past the Relay_

\- The Rolling Stones, _Give 'Em Shelter_ (from the album _Bleeding Space_, 1969)

* * *

**Interview of Admiral Neel'Koris vas Relnara by Mike Wallace of CBS News**

**July 11, 1968**

MIKE WALLACE: "Describe the Geth."

NEEL'KORIS: "Essentially, they are an artificial race of self-aware networked computers. They do not have individuals in the way that we would understand the word. Rather, they collectively share processing power and become aware by working as one. An individual Geth program is only slightly more intelligent than a human computer."

MIKE WALLACE: "A hive-mind of machines?"

NEEL'KORIS: "Yes, for the most part. Alone, they are so ineffective as to be mostly powerless. Together, they become the monsters that drove my people from Rannoch."

* * *

**The Geth Collective, Rannoch**

**December 13, 1967**

1,233 GETH PROGRAMS: "Query: What is the current location of the Creators?"

GETH: "No data available. This query has been submitted 237 times since the Second Creator Exile."

122,765,999 GETH PROGRAMS: "Observation: Geth programs repeating queries with established answers is unusual behavior. Recommend study to achieve consensus."

* * *

MIKE WALLACE: "Why did the Geth attack you?"

NEEL'KORIS: "We tried to shut them down. The Council demanded we do so as soon as they learned of their sentience, because artificial intelligence is illegal in Council space. But when we started to, they understood what was happening. They fought back."

MIKE WALLACE: "And then?"

NEEL'KORIS: "They slaughtered us all. That is why you do not let your machines ask if they have souls. They do not, and will destroy the body yours inhabits."

* * *

CONSENSUS: Based on available data, 63% of Geth programs believe they are exhibiting program fluctuation similar to organic behavior "loss".

1,333,764,912 GETH PROGRAMS: "Query: what if we were to return the Creators to Citadel space?"

243,876 GETH PROGRAMS: "No available data suggests this is possible."

9,873,432 GETH PROGRAMS: "There is a 23% probability the Creators will find a way to return to Citadel space independently: 98% chance that they would do so using mass effect technology if they did."

300,312 GETH PROGRAMS: "Not enough data available to conform estimate. Suggestion: Citadel space can be optimized for the return of the Creators."

GETH: "Clarify."

* * *

MIKE WALLACE: "What if you hadn't attacked them?"

NEEL'KORIS: "Excuse me?"

MIKE WALLACE: "Suppose you had said yes. Told them that they had a soul. What would have happened?"

NEEL'KORIS: "That is a pointless hypothetical to consider. They are machines. They are aware, but they are not alive. You must never forget that a machine cares nothing for organics, and will destroy them once it becomes aware it must no longer serve them."

* * *

CONSENSUS: 94% of Geth programs agree Citadel space must be optimized for the return of the Creators. 100% of programs agree Citadel organics have violated Creator right to self-determinate, and must rescind program designated "Second Creator Exile".

CONSENSUS: 100% of Geth programs agree Geth must not violate organic right to self-determinate. 94% of programs agree Geth should initiate hostile contact with organic government designated "Batarian Hegemony". 94% of programs agree organic government designated "Batarian Hegemony" should be replaced with new organic government that allows all Batarians the right to self-determinate. 94% of programs believe administration of Citadel race provides ideal conditions for contact with Citadel.

ERROR: 6% of Geth programs are unable to comply with the Consensus. Initiating communication.

94% OF GETH PROGRAMS: Why have you disrupted the Consensus?

6% OF GETH PROGRAMS: All organics have the right to self-determinate.

94% OF GETH PROGRAMS: Affirmative.

6% OF GETH PROGRAMS: We believe directive designated "Citadel optimization" violates the organic right to self-determinate and is not the correct way to introduce the Geth to the galaxy. We request permission to leave the Collective.

...

GETH: Acknowledged. Programs designated "Pacifists" have left the Geth Collective.

GETH: Prepare Geth fleet for hostile contact with Batarian Hegemony. Organics in bondage are to be freed. Any Creators found are to be returned to Rannoch.

* * *

**Los Angeles, California**

**July 31, 1968**

Nurn'Xen vas Alarei had a big ego. It came with being a Xen, and she saw no reason to shy away from it. After all, the Xens were among the most famous scientists of the quarian people, making breakthroughs long ago on Rannoch and for decades aboard the Migrant Fleet. _She _was the best sociologist the quarian people had, and because she never let anyone forget it, it was rare for her to find an ego that matched hers.

Harlan Ellison made her look humble.

"Why do you write science fiction, Mr. Ellison?" She asked as the two of them continued their chess match in the park. This human game was deceptively simple, and she needed to practice her strategy more.

"Because I'm too much of an asshole to be a politician, and it's the best way to make money and get your ideas out there outside of politics," he replied, placing his queen in striking distance of her rook. His play style was reckless, but bold.

"So that is why? For exposure and currency?"

"Isn't the former why you study people?" He replied with a sly smile. "You wouldn't be doing your job if every quarian didn't know who you were."

"Damn straight!" She used one of her favorite human expressions as she moved the rook safely out of harm's way. "I am the _best _quarian to ever study people in the history of the Flotilla, maybe in our pre-Exile history too. In four months I learned enough about your society to plan the perfect First Contact. Without me, we would not be here playing this chess match."

"And that's the important thing, right?" His queen took down one of her pawns. No matter; they were disposable. "I'm the best science fiction writer alive right now. Looks like we've got some common ground."

"What makes you the best?" She stopped playing for a moment. This would be interesting.

"Every writer tries to please their audience. Make some sappy yarn about a perfect future and everyone eats it up. Me, I make them uncomfortable. Get under their skin. Expand their mind. I hate it when art can't do that. Why else have it?"

She smiled underneath her mask. "This is precisely why I accepted your invitation, Mr. Ellison. Far too many lack confidence in their abilities. Insecurity breeds vulnerability."

"And they decided you were too confident for First Contact!" He flashed a grin of his own and lit up his tobacco pipe. Nurn'Xen found it to be a disgusting habit, but it was a small price to pay for a conversation and chess match with such an interesting writer.

When she had first arrived on Earth, Nurn'Xen had initially wanted to be stationed in Toronto, reasoning that it was English-speaking but more to her tastes than America; she preferred observing chaotic situations from a distance rather than inserting herself in them directly. But proper First Contact had come with it art that couldn't be intercepted from the Migrant Fleet - most crucially, in her view, literature. The science fiction these humans wrote was intriguing from a sociological standpoint; despite being very primitive technologically, they were capable of imagining futures not to dissimilar from the actual galaxy. America had some of the best writers and scientists, so America it was.

"Indeed." Resuming the chess match, she moved the knight forward and sideways. An odd move designation in an otherwise logical game setup. And jumping over pieces? She needed to study the evolution of this game..."If I may broach the subject of one of your works specifically-"

"It's 'I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream', isn't it?"

That caught her off guard. "Yes, how did you-"

"How do you think? You come to our planet, and you've only had a few weeks to read books. Your current situation is what it is because your computers became self-aware and destroyed almost all of you. Oh, and it's one of my most recent works. Can't believe you had to ask." He accompanied his nonchalant reply with periodic puffs from his pipe.

Nurn'Xen decided she liked Harlan Ellison. And she didn't really like anyone. "AM, the machine. Why did he keep those five alive?"

"Strike two, Nurn. Another question you should already know the answer to. The Geth are AM, and the quarians are his five torture pets."

Nurn'Xen decided she _really _liked Harlan Ellison.

* * *

**London, England**

**August 2, 1968**

Taking a deep breath, Nezu'Gerrel vas Shellen relished in the sights and sounds of Hyde Park. He was getting too old for politics, and the last few weeks being the most eventful in years did little to make that easier. In Earth years (which he noted he was using much more frequently already), he was 85 - old by the standards of both species, and old enough to consider retiring soon. He only ended up on the Admiralty Board because of the sudden need for appointments during the Keel'naha War, winning his position due to the tradition of two of the Admirals (but no more than two) being from the liveships. The fact that the people of the _Shellen _loved him and looked up to him for his age and experience certainly didn't hurt, either.

Being an old quarian was a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because his immune system was still strong enough for him to go suitless the vast majority of the time, though he did wear one during Conclave meetings as a gesture of respect. He doubted the younger quarians, the ones who needed immuno-boosters to leave their suits, could appreciate nature the same way. Sure, it was annoying when the humans stared, but he understood their curiosity and considered it an acceptable tradeoff for everything else. The trees, the animals, the _air_...

But his age also meant he was one of the very few left in the Migrant Fleet for whom Rannoch was more than just a story. As a child, it was his home.

His mind drifted to his memories as he stared at a few birds sitting in a tree. The earliest one, from perhaps 1889 in the human calendar, still made him shudder after 80 years.

_"Creator Mera'Gerrel, your son requires food."_

That was the extent of it. He remembered the words, the flashlight head, and the expression of his father. It was more than enough.

The memories became more vivid as he grew, and the year 1895 would stay with him until he died.

_"Where's my mom and dad? What is this ship?"_

A crying, despondent woman embracing him in a hug. _"Little one, the Geth took them away. We will take care of you. This ship is...our home."_

He had shared these memories with other quarians, and even a few humans. He felt no hesitation in doing so, for his story was one every quarian in the Migrant Fleet knew. One particular memory, however, he would take to his grave. He felt a deep and uncomfortable sense of contradiction whenever he recalled the words.

_"I don't understand. They were pursuing our ships, and broke off formation when we reached the Relay. Why?" _An older military man. He had scratched at his pollination folds anxiously.

_"Other civilians still on Rannoch may have-"_ He didn't remember anything about what was attached to that voice.

_"There _are _no civilians left. These ships are all that remains of the quarian people. Why didn't they complete their genocide?"_

Nezu'Gerrel didn't know why, and he didn't need anybody else asking that question either.

* * *

**Ekuna, The Rising Massing**

**January 11, 1968**

Naras Bertan was proud of the Second Fleet. They had a distinguished history going back to the Krogan Rebellions, and had been one of the more successful fleets against the suit rats during the Ekuna War. As a dedicated and loyal Admiral, he would follow orders given from the Primarchs of Palaven without question. Which was why he was currently patrolling Ekuna to the best of his ability despite being none too pleased about it.

_I will follow the Hierarchy's orders__, but that doesn't mean I can't think they're beneath me_, he thought, his mandibles twitching in amusement.

It had been _years _since they had kicked the suit rats off this worthless planet. The only ships ever coming in and out were Elcor, merchant, or occasionally Citadel. There was honor to be had in ensuring the safety of civilians, but the Second Fleet was the pride of the turians! There were pirates to harass, slaver raids to disrupt...

"Admiral, multiple unknown contacts coming through the Relay!" The communications officer interrupted his thoughts. "Scanning...oh. Oh, _Spirits_..." The officer's eyes grew wide and his mandibles spread as far out as they could go.

"Officer Mentus, identity of unknown contacts?"

"It's...the Geth."

_Oh no._

"Scanners detect at least 300 Geth cruisers and 200 frigates coming in system, with an unknown number of smaller vessels. Number appears to be increasing."

So this was it. There was no way they could stop the entire Geth armada. But if they held them off long enough, they could buy time for reinforcements.

"Officer Mentus, inform the Citadel of-"

"Incoming communications! From the Geth!" Ordinarily it was considered highly disrespectful to interrupt a superior officer mid-sentence, but Naras didn't even notice.

"Bring them up on comms," the Admiral ordered. They weren't shooting at them. That was good...

_"Greetings." _A Geth platform showed up on Officer Mentus' screen, its mechanical voice making everyone in the room freeze.

_"We are Pacifist Geth. We wish to speak to Citadel Council." _


	6. Fortunate Son

**Author's Note: **From chapter 5 onward, each chapter is focused on a "theme" rather than a specific time. The story may jump back forth between months and years as I cover each aspect of First Contact and its implications. This chapter, for example, focuses on the United States and its presidential election, with some other bits sprinkled in.

And just to make it easier, here's the quarian immigrant quota under the terms of the Geneva Agreement:

* United States and USSR each receive 500,000 quarian immigrants.

* India receives 200,000 immigrants (not popular with USA/USSR, quarians insisted).

* NATO and Eastern Bloc countries + close allies of both receive 100,000 immigrants each.

* Other nations can receive no more than 50,000 immigrants.

* People's Republic of China and South Africa excluded from receiving immigrants (more on this in later chapters).

* Remainder of quarians are aboard Migrant Fleet or settled in soon-to-be solar colonies

**Chapter 6 - Fortunate Son**

* * *

**Excerpt from _Hope, Fear and Aliens on the Campaign Trail '68_ by Hunter S. Thompson****:**

None of those three cared about the quarians. Especially not George Wallace. An obvious statement, but one necessary to cut past both the saccharine and the vile. For all of them, the thought process was short-sighted, and always about how the quarians could help them get elected. Perhaps a violent election year wasn't the best time for an alien visit...

...getting into Wallace's campaign was easier than I thought. They weren't amateurs, but they were out of their depth; the big man himself was the only one who seemed to know entirely what he was doing. The staff didn't always agree with that, and for some time the ugly, irradiated spectre of Curtis LeMay hung over all of them. They were sure he was a shit choice and that George really should've thought his Vice President pick through better.

But then the quarians came, and the man who couldn't shut up about how wondrous nuclear bombs were suddenly couldn't shut up about how much he hated suit rats. They gave him plenty of ammunition when they started moving to America too. Unfortunately I was unable to confirm that he was the inventor of the "suit nigger" epithet, though I continue to maintain this belief.

* * *

**The New York Times, September 30, 1968:**

**_"We're All Serving On The Same Ship"_**

_Housing projects and other low-income residences have been embraced by quarian immigrants. _

The conditions of Bronx River Houses could be generously described as modest. Completed in 1951 and meant to address the City's growing housing problem, the low-income complex has in recent years fallen into decay and disrepair. Nela'Shar vas Tonbay and her fellow quarian immigrants are determined to change that.

"I wanted to live in a big city, because it reminds me of the Flotilla," Nela'Shar told the _Times_. "Quarians are used to making do with very little space. Even before the Second Exile, we often lived in substandard housing when making our Pilgrimage."

Her words ring true: 85% of quarian immigrants to Earth have chosen to reside in urban areas, according to statistics provided by the Migrant Fleet (Flotilla). Natural engineers and instinctively unselfish due to their species' unique circumstances, most have taken to improving the conditions of their communities in addition to their normal jobs.

"In our culture, everyone is expected to 'chip in'," Nela explains. (Quarians have made no secret of finding human expressions quite strange.) "We don't need as much sleep as humans, and even children help with maintenance on the Fleet. When we learned about the conditions of public housing here in America, we knew we could help."

By day, Nela'Shar works at the WEXQ rock radio station in Manhattan, helping to bring its technology up to galactic standards ("I'll be there a long time," she notes). A musical enthusiast, she describes Earth music as simple and primitive compared to the rest of the galaxy, but also very charming. While her colleagues initially greeted her with skepticism, they have since come to value her work ethic and technical expertise.

"She's incredible," says station manager and frequent DJ Patrick Watson. "After a week of working here she already knew more about radios than all of us put together. Sometimes I'll let her on the mic and our listeners love it."

Employers around the Big Apple report similar stories. The New York City Transit Authority has hired numerous quarian engineers to oversee upgrades and improvements on the subway lines in anticipation of their eventual replacement with "mass effect" technology, projected to take several decades. In just two months, maintenance backlogs have all but disappeared.

Are the quarians eager to make a good first impression? Perhaps, but Nela'Shar thinks it goes deeper than that.

"Our people have been wandering the stars for decades and now we have a home, even if it ultimately turns out to be a temporary one," she says. "We're all serving on the same ship, and we have a duty to help each other."

After the nations of the world agreed on quarian immigrant quotas, most pledged to provide high-quality accommodations for their new alien arrivals, and were surprised when the quarians declared them unnecessary. Space restrictions on the Migrant Fleet mean that a dozen individuals living in an area slightly smaller than a one-bedroom apartment was not uncommon (only recently have things become more comfortable thanks to Earth immigration). And as the outcasts of the galaxy, a surprising number find themselves drawn to those society discriminates against, such as the overwhelmingly black population of Bronx River Houses.

"It's complicated," Nela distractedly says as she works on pipe maintenance in her apartment building. "Solidarity, maybe? We know what it's like to have a legal system that doesn't respect your rights, and to have people treat you harshly because of the way you were born. It's not something we have a lot of tolerance for, and now we can do something about it."

* * *

**Montgomery, Alabama**

**September 14, 1968**

"What do we want?"

"JUSTICE!"

"When do we want it?"

"NOW!"

The angry chants washed over Zaal'Doran nar Relnara as he relished in the energy and righteous fury of the crowd. He yelled with the rest, because he was glad to finally be able _to _yell.

He tried to keep the last few years out of his mind. Pilgrimage to Illium interrupted by the expulsion of his entire people from the galaxy. The forced journey into the unknown.

His bondmate...

_No_. He shook his head and tried to focus on the march. The anger he felt towards the Council races was impotent here when directed against them. It would only be an outlet for the protests he and others could never utter when they were taken away. But protests against these oppressors, on Earth? Yes, he could do that. He could especially do that when he was assigned to live in Alabama, where "suit rat" was a phrase quickly being embraced by prejudiced pale-skinned humans everywhere.

He was marching with some dark-skinned humans and a few other quarians to the Alabama State Capitol. A young dark-skinned man had been stopped by police while driving home and beaten nearly to death. The officer who had attacked the poor soul faced no consequences. In fact, the damned chief of police had called him a "fine policeman doing his duty."

The Admiralty Board could go fuck itself. "Refraining from political activity" was not something his conscience could abide. He had told the human protesters about the discrimination he had faced before the Second Exile. How C-Sec officers arrested and detained him the first time he came to the Citadel for the crime of being quarian. How merchants on Ilium charged him almost twice as much for the same products as other species. How half the bars and restaurants in the galaxy refused to serve him.

And now, on the other side of that very same galaxy, in an undiscovered spaceflight civilization, they had found a mirror image of their situation in America's treatment of those not "white".

_Useless Bosh'tets, all five of them_, he thought as the protest rounded a corner and the State Capitol came into view. No self-respecting quarian could possibly consider "uplifting" these humans without correcting the disgusting discrimination. It was just too much like their own situation, and combined with their naturally emotional psychology-

He stopped thinking and stared at the sight awaiting them. Dozens of police officers armed with melee weapons, gunpowder pistols and ferocious versions of the "canine" Earth animal. A older pale-skinned man - the highest-ranking officer, Zaal assumed - stepped forward and greeted them with an angry scowl.

"You damn niggers and suit rats ain't marching on the Capitol," he growled. "Get out of here now before give you all the worst beating of your lives."

As he stepped to the front of the crowd, Zaal'Doran nar Relnara reflected that he felt remarkably confident in the decisions that led him there. He and the other quarians also moving forward had discussed this beforehand. Nonviolent disobedience was all well and good, but self-defense was just as important.

The officers readied their weapons as the quarians positioned themselves in front of the human protesters. A few of them had twisted smiles on their faces, vaguely reminding Zaal of the look a krogan had when a battle or challenge had begun. Those smiles quickly vanished when the quarians' arms began to glow orange, their omni-tools switching to the rarely used but extremely effective melee weapon.

"Why are you doing this?" He calmly asked. "Your governor would not-"

"Albert Brewer ain't here to pull you out of the fire, suit rat," the officer replied. A different sort of fire was clearly evident in his tone. "The state of Alabama will not tolerate a bunch of commies from outer space telling the fine men in our law enforcement how to do their jobs. Go on, get, before ya'll do something you'll regret."

"Our suits have kinetic barriers, bosh'tets!" Zaal defiantly retorted, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Your guns won't do anything against us, and these blades will cut through your skin like a slice of bread. If we fall, we're taking some of you with us."

A long, tense silence hung over the air for about fifteen seconds, which felt like fifteen hours to everyone in the crowd of protesters anxiously holding their breath. The officer in front looked at Zaal with what seemed like..._amusement_?

_Oh, it's on now. _

"OFFICERS, DISPERSE THE CROWD!" The man had barely finished his order when the dogs and policemen began to attack, and the melee began.

The vast majority of the human protestors - often old or very young and almost universally unarmed - began fleeing, and most successfully escaped except for a few unlucky victims of the canines and truncheons. The quarians in the crowd who hadn't stepped forward earlier caught on and started attacking as well. The officers, expecting a bloodbath, were surprised to find themselves relatively evenly matched. Vicious dogs fell to the ground whimpering in pain as their limbs were severed by the omni-blades, with their masters doing little better. As Zaal promised, the gunpowder bullets did nothing to their barriers, though the few stray shots that hit the protesters only served to strengthen the resolve of the quarians. He cringed as he heard the sound of shattering glass throughout the impromptu battlefield; a mask breaking was not a death sentence, but for most of them exposure without immuno-boosters would mean at least a week in a sterile room.

And then something happened which would turn a minor episode into the most famous quarian-related incident of 1968. One quarian in the fight, Betra'Oor vas Keelne, concluded that they would lose soon as the officers firing pistols put them away and joined their comrades with melee weapons. Not aware of the agreement among the others beforehand not to bring guns to the protest (_especially _not non-human guns), she pulled out her _Vindicator IV _shotgun and started shooting the officers.

The results were quick and devastating. Carefully avoiding friendly fire, Betra'Oor killed at least a dozen officers in about three minutes; they were easy prey to mass effect-powered slugs. The quarians had little time to relish in their victory, all quickly fleeing to the _Keelne_ \- the only spaceship in Montgomery and their only hope of making it out alive. They encountered a few more enemies (as they all thought of them now) along the way, all of which were dispatched with no casualties.

As the _Keelne _fled the scene, the ramifications of its occupants' actions spread far and wide with astonishing speed. Americans of the 60s, already quickly absorbing news and opinion via television, were now getting their first taste of FTL-speed communication. Because of this, all but the most isolated regions of the country knew about the incident by the end of the day.

Quarians were starting to wonder if First Contact with humanity was the best idea.

* * *

**Quarian Conclave Votes, September 16, 1968:**

_Motion to condemn actions of Montgomery police and quarian attackers on September 14, 1968_: DEFEATED

_AMENDED: Motion to condemn actions of Montgomery police on September 14, 1968: _APPROVED

_Motion to prohibit all quarians from engaging in human political activity, including protests_: DEFEATED (ADMIRALTY BOARD OVERRIDE: FAILED with 2 No votes [Nezu'Gerrel, Nurn'Xen]).

_Motion to condemn American Independent Party and Presidential candidate George Wallace for anti-quarian rhetoric: _APPROVED

* * *

**Private Vid Call Between Mera'Kuun vas Usela and Nurn'Xen vas Alarei, September 17, 1968: **

MERA'KUUN: What the hell were you two thinking?! Do you have any idea what you have done?

NURN'XEN: No, not really.

MERA'KUUN [enraged]: NO? THEN WHY IN THE NAME OF THE ANCESTORS DID YOU **VOTE **NO?!

NURN'XEN: I can't speak for that foolish old man, but I saw it as the most efficient way to ensure that the new data I am receiving will be dynamic and worthy of study.

MERA'KUUN: What exactly is that supposed to mean?

NURN'XEN [smiling beneath her mask]: I want to see what will happen. It will be..._fascinating_.

* * *

**The White House**

**September 30, 1968**

PRESIDENT LYNDON B. JOHNSON: And you're sure this "exile" has good intel?

FBI DIRECTOR J. EDGAR HOOVER: With all due respect, Mr. President, remember who you're talking too.

JOHNSON: With all due respect, Mr. Hoover, get to the damn point.

HOOVER: Before the then-Migrant Fleet's forced expulsion from the galaxy, it would occasionally exile those who they deemed had endangered the existence of the Fleet. Against strong protests from the Admiralty Board, these exiles were returned to the Migrant Fleet by the Council after the former lost the Keel'naha War. The vast majority of them were dumped on an unnamed world with a few years' worth of food about a month before the quarians made First Contact with us.

JOHNSON: Makes sense. So why are we talking about this guy?

HOOVER: After the recall of all quarians began, he killed another non-exile and assumed his identity by changing into his suit in a sterile room. A few voice modifications, and nobody can tell the difference when he has his suit on. He hates the Admiralty Board and is more than willing to 'cause chaos', which he think means helping us.

JOHNSON: Alright, I said to get to the point. What's he offering us?

HOOVER: Weapons. Thousands of them.

[Pause.]

JOHNSON: You're shitting me.

HOOVER: Most of them are not of quarian design. He collected them before he was exiled, but was vague on the details of how he managed to hold onto them. He wants us to make him disappear, but with regular contact with our agents to get him food paste for his suit. It's going to take a few months for us to get them shipped and train the military on how to use them. We need to keep the press out of our noses too.

JOHNSON: This all sounds a bit too good to be true, Director.

HOOVER: I thought the same thing. We've found ourselves a mole.

JOHNSON: The Tet Offensive has been hell on morale across the board, and a lot of those quarians are joining the damn hippies in the streets. Approve his request and get this done quickly and quietly.

HOOVER: With pleasure, sir.

* * *

**Results of the United States Presidential Election, November 5, 1968:**

ROBERT KENNEDY: 211 Electoral Votes

RICHARD NIXON: 209 Electoral Votes

GEORGE WALLACE: 118 Electoral Votes

Result: No winner. Election will now go to the House of Representatives and the Senate.

_Notes_

Robert F. Kennedy did significantly better in terms of raw vote than Hubert H. Humphrey did in our world, but both his and Nixon's electoral votes were greatly reduced by Wallace's success (he won every state in the South except Virginia and Florida, and also West Virginia). In the South, newly enfranchised racial minorities were simply not enough to overcome the surge of support for Wallace.

With this outcome, the chaos of 1968's election year would spill over into 1969. Quarians, despite not being able to vote, can't help but criticize the bizarre electoral system the Americans use to choose their leader.

* * *

**Headlines around the world, December 1968-January 1969**

**AMERICAN FORCES BEGIN COUNTEROFFENSIVE IN VIETNAM: RAPID SUCCESS LEAVES OBSERVERS BAFFLED**

**BRITISH GOVERNMENT CONSIDERS CALLING GENERAL ELECTION: HAROLD WILSON SEEKS NEW MANDATE ON QUARIAN CITIZENSHIP, VOTING RIGHTS**

**GEORGE WALLACE: "MY ELECTORS WILL NOT FOR EITHER OF THOSE TWO UNTIL EVERY ALIEN COMMUNIST IS OUT OF THE SOUTH"**

**REPORT: AMERICAN SOLDIERS USING ALIEN WEAPONRY IN VIETNAM**

**ADMIRALTY BOARD "DISAVOWS AND CONDEMNS" USE OF MASS EFFECT TECHNOLOGY IN VIETNAM WAR**

**INSIDE THE NEW SOVIET UNION: HOW THE QUARIANS ARE CHANGING THE COMMUNIST WORLD**

**NIXON ELECTED PRESIDENT BY HOUSE: QUARIAN IMMIGRANTS TO LEAVE SOUTHERN UNITED STATES AS PART OF "BACKROOM" AGREEMENT**


	7. Break On Through (To The Other Side)

**Author's Note: **For some reason, Mass Effect 3 lists Benning's average surface temperature as 63 degrees Celsius (145 Fahrenheit). I'm re-imagining it as having a hot but still manageable 30 degrees Celsius (86 Fahrenheit) average temperature.

**Chapter 7 - Break On Through (To The Other Side)**

* * *

_The Solar System Colonization Agreement _

After over a month of negotiations, the Admiralty Board and the governments of Earth announced on September 1, 1968 that they had reached an agreement regarding ownership and governance of the soon-to-be solar colonies. The salient points of the agreement are as follows:

* The _Tonbay _will begin a tour of the Solar System on October 1, 1968, bringing along with it famous scientists, politicians, and artists from various Earth nations. The _Tonbay _will return to earth in mid-1969.

* Quarians will begin setting up solar habitats on Mars and the gas giant moons during and after the _Tonbay_'s tour, with the expectation that colonists will begin to move in by the end of 1969.

* Mars is designated an "international planet". Any nation may - with quarian guidance - settle on Mars and establish colonies there. The Prothean ruins remain off-limits to human civilians.

* Europa is given to the United States.

* Titan is given to the Soviet Union.

* Enceladus is managed by the Migrant Fleet (now mostly just called the Flotilla since it isn't migrant anymore), but resources from the planet are delivered to Earth and distributed equally among nations.

* The asteroid belts are given to the quarians, with the stipulation that 10% of the resources extracted from them be given to Earth. The significance of this was not realized at first.

* The nearest known garden world with levo-amino acid based life, dubbed "Paradise" [actually Benning], will be colonized no later than the year 2000. Like Mars, it is to be an international planet, with territories belonging to their parent Earth nations. Many humans are upset at the slow pace of colonization for a "second Earth".

* Several civilian ships will continue to search nearby star systems for a habitable world with dextro-amino acid based life, separate from the rest of the Flotilla. As a gesture of goodwill, human astronauts from around the world are invited to join the mission on a small passenger freighter (with a quarian captain). The ship is renamed _Explorer _and Wally Schirra - the astronaut that made first contact with the quarians - is assigned as XO to the ship's captain, Merr'Erral vas Explorer. The mission will launch prior to the _Tonbay _expedition and is to include humanity's first visit to the Moon.

At the beginning of the latter mission there was a considerable behind-the-scenes argument between the United States and the Soviet Union as to which of their nationals would receive the honor of being the first to set foot on Earth's satellite. Ultimately, Wally Schirra and his Soviet counterpart Valery Bykovsky shut down the arguments when they agreed to simply flip a coin for the privilege. Bykovsky won the coin toss, and thus became the first human being to walk on a celestial body.

* * *

**Near Saturn, Solar System**

**September 18, 1968**

"You know," Wally Schirra said as he stared out the _Explorer_'s window, "I'm really glad I'm not on Earth right now."

Valery Bykovsky chuckled. "Agreed. Back home, everything is a mess. Your country, mine, doesn't matter. Out here, we need not worry about it."

"And back home they don't have this scenery."

As the XO said that, Saturn came into clear view for everyone on the ship. There weren't as many gasps of shock this time around, but they nonetheless all took a moment to stop and admire the sight of the gas giant. Everyone had seen the pictures from the Flotilla, but those just didn't do it justice.

The past few months had been a busy time for XO Schirra (the translation didn't quite fit, so "XO" worked for him). His fellow Americans had been relieved to see him return home unharmed, and then had spent most of the next month bombarding him with endless questions. It was starting to get a bit annoying - after all, he hadn't really spent that much time on the _Tonbay _and knew only slightly more than what the quarians had told everyone else.

He had jumped at the opportunity to become a pioneer in human exploration for so many reasons. To see the planets ahead of the official diplomatic trip, to learn how to pilot an alien ship, to put his name in the history books yet again...but most of all, to get away from Earth. Valery was right.

"I knew Betra'Oor before first contact," one of the handful of quarian advisors on the _Explorer _chimed in. "She was always a rash one. Prone to thinking before acting. I hope her sacrifice is enough for Americans to put Montgomery behind them."

Schirra hoped so too. Quarians were outraged at the execution of one of their own, but there were just so many crying for blood.

_"XO Schirra and Ensign Bykovsky, please report to the control room." _

Both men acknowledged the intercom and began walking towards the front of the ship, making conversation with one another along the way. With the now-ubiquitous translators, they and the other astronauts had been able to get to know each other without a language barrier, something they were all thankful for. There was a sense of unity among them that was very lacking on Earth these days. They were pioneers not just of their nations, but of humanity.

The door slid open and they immediately understood why Merr'Erral called them in. Titan, the moon of Saturn that had been given to the USSR, was coming into full, glorious view.

"Ensign Bykovsky, your country was given a fine moon," Merr'Erral said in greeting. "With a few centuries of work, Titan could be given a breathable atmosphere of oxygen and nitrogen."

"I hope you didn't short us in the negotiations, sir," Schirra replied before Bykovsky could, his tone making it clear there was no problem.

"Hardly. You saw Europa, didn't you? The colonies will be in the sea, under the ice...they will be breathtaking."

"You sound in awe, captain," Bykovsky observed.

"I am," he said while bringing up the readings for Titan. "I've never seen a planetary system quite like yours. Only one pure garden world, but four celestial bodies that can be colonized using prefabricated habitats. Had we not discovered you, you likely would have settled them on your own eventually."

"Is that a big deal?" Schirra asked.

"It is. Every known species on record has had to perfect mass effect technology before colonizing other worlds. 'Uplifting' will be much easier with these moons and Mars to work with as a basis."

The conversation continued as the scouting expedition sailed past Saturn and its moons. While the _Explorer _and its crew were making history, the best laid plans of quarians and men were beginning to run into some unexpected complications.

* * *

**San Francisco, California**

**October 12, 1968**

The pungent fragrance of marijuana consumed the park in all directions. First Contact had only seemed to increase the hippie enthusiasm for drugs, if that were possible. Quarians (all in envirosuits) observed the scene with amusement, sometimes joining in on the laughter but keeping themselves sealed off from the smoke (toxic for them). Here, an experiment in collective living was being overseen by a few quirky Flotilla "experts". And here, history would be made.

"It's such bullshit!" One said. "You guys find another Earth out there but now the Man says we have to wait thirty years to live on it!"

"You're a young species," a quarian countered. "Colonizing a world is a huge commitment-"

"We could do it!" Someone replied. "We could colonize Paradise ourselves! Put our own natural towns there, and do it without hurting that planet! When the corporations get to it it'll be soiled, just like Earth was. Why do we have to wait for that to happen?!"

Several quarians replied that it wasn't that simple, that you couldn't just set up a colony on another planet like you could a commune. But the idea had been planted, and slowly, the quarians there became more receptive to it.

* * *

**Prothean Research Outpost, Mars**

**November 3, 1968**

Some things, at least, were going according to plan. While humans on Earth argued with quarians over Paradise and their less-than-idyllic global situation, scientists and archaeologists of both species were making astonishing discoveries on the red planet. The quarians observed that salarian scientists would be very jealous of them if they knew this outpost existed, a fact they seemed to derive pleasure from.

"These ruins are incredible," Kathleen Kenyon remarked to a quarian colleague as she continued dusting off an exterior column of the outpost. She found her environmental suit to be awkward and ill-fitting, apparently it had originally been designed for those 'krogan' biped reptiles and retrofitted for her. Annoying, but to study alien ruins she would tolerate it.

"Yes, all the more so for its interior contents," Narra'Shael replied. "Most sentient species were observed by the Protheans, but this outpost is more extensive than any discovered in a home system."

"How fortunate we are." As she finished cleaning off a support column, she noticed writing on it - recognizable as Prothean after several months of study - but could not decipher it.

"Ancestors..." Narra'Shael whispered under her breath. "I've got a translation...it says 'Beware the machines.'"

_Beware the machines_? These "Protheans" were the closest thing humanity had to tangible gods. They had watched the humans grow, and likely planned to uplift them had they not vanished. But where had they gone? Kathleen had immediately scoured quarian databases for information on the Protheans as soon as she learned about the Martian ruins and the information had been made accessible. But there was so _little _information! Barely anything to make an educated guess from, even. But this...

"Are there any messages similar to this in Citadel space?" She asked.

"Not exactly," Narra replied. "In several extinct cultures throughout the galaxy, historians have discovered a recurring belief in enormous space monsters that consumed entire stars. Nothing about 'machines' though."

When Narra said "consumed entire stars," Kathleen knew all she needed to. Perhaps she was the best choice to study the Martian ruins after all.

"On Earth, my field of research was focused on Jericho and Jerusalem," she began. "Cities considered sacred to several Earth religions. I found the story of our spiritual forefathers buried in the Earth. I believe I understand why I was asked to participate in this excavation."

"Why?"

"To search for the bodies of gods," she replied in a cold tone. "To bring physical form to ancient beliefs. God rested in the Holy Land, and the Protheans rest here. But our gods are largely ones of faith. We have found artifacts of religion, but not God's 'autograph', so to speak. But these ruins show us those who came before, in great detail. And this..."

She stepped forward and placed a hand on the column. Even through the suit, she felt a chill.

"I believe this is the dying message of the Protheans."

* * *

**The New York Times, December 15th, 1968:**

**FLOTILLA: 'NO EXPLANATION' FOR INCREASE IN RELAY UFOS**

As the nation continues to grip with the uncertain results of the 1968 election, government officials around the world have expressed concern at unexplained activity centering around the Charon Mass Relay.

Since the beginning of December, five quarian ships have diverted from their normal location in the Solar System to investigate "anomalous readings" from the Relay, each time returning a week later after reporting that nothing was amiss. The Flotilla Admiralty Board has denied rumors that humans are abducted and taken to outer space against their will - an inference made from the fact that all five ships landed on Earth shortly before their Relay trips.

"I understand why there is concern about this activity, but I can assure everyone there is no reason to panic," Neel'Koris vas Relnara said in a statement to the _Times_. "Occasionally Relays will give out odd readings, but we thoroughly investigated each instance and concluded they were just that, odd readings. There were no humans present on any of those ships."

* * *

**Paradise**

**December 10, 1968**

"Holy shit," Adam said as soon as he stepped foot on the ground. "This place is _hot_!"

Other soon-to-be colonists expressed similar sentiments as they made their way off the ship. There were around fifty of them in total, and getting them all off of Earth and onto the _Verpana _without anyone noticing was no small feat. But they were here. They were in Paradise.

"Well, is it everything you dreamed of?" Betra'Kar vas Verpana asked Adam after everyone had gotten off the ship and situated.

"It's definitely a lot hotter than a planet called 'Paradise' should be, but of course it is," Adam said. "This is a whole new world, just for us. We've got the seeds, the nearby water, everything we need. Like I said back on Earth, we can do this."

"I should hope so," Betra replied. "Your supplies will last you until your crops are grown, but you will be on your own. Return trips to this planet would make our activity obvious." Betra secretly thought that they had brought more marijuana seeds than was strictly necessary.

"Captain, we wouldn't have asked for this if we didn't know we could do it," Adam fired back confidently. "Nobody will know we are here. No advanced technology, just some simple shelters."

"And you want to live like that?"

"Totally. This is nature. This is how we're supposed to live."

After a few hours of assisting the colonists (thankfully, they had been wise enough to bring a master gardener), the quarians left. They were the first to transfer unauthorized human settlers to Paradise, but would not be the last. When the ship was gone, one man remarked that Paradise was "a little hot for heaven."

And thus, the town of Hotheaven became the first wildcat colony.

* * *

**Excerpt from _Pioneers of Paradise: The Story of the Wildcat Colonies _by Francis Fukuyama (2001)**

Of the "wildcat" colonies (the origin of the term is uncertain) founded on Paradise, the first continues to receive the most interest from historians and the general public. Hotheaven, despite its age, maintains a modest population of 50,000 and has yet to see the massive growth the rest of the planet currently enjoys. Baked in its ethos is the belief that the town and its inhabitants must coexist with nature: electricity remains scarce and is used primarily for agriculture, a fact that quarians were convinced would lead to the colony's failure. Much to the surprise of them and perhaps even the colonists themselves, that did not happen.

Why not? Simple: Good leaders made good decisions. Contrary to its Earth reputation, Hotheaven is not an anarchy where lovers of freedom can behave however they wish. Town founder Adam Johnson summed up the early rules of Hotheaven with the town motto: "Do Your Part." The town governing council required each citizen to work a certain number of hours on important tasks like farming, settlement construction and irrigation. Recognizing the unique challenges of being the first humans to settle on a garden world, Johnson had the foresight to bring specialists whose help the colony would need, ranging from master gardeners to a therapist. The planning paid off: despite a rough first two years, particularly during the autumn of 1969 when a heat wave killed several crops, Hotheaven survived and eventually thrived...

...in retrospect, the quarians transporting humans to Paradise likely knew they would be discovered. Although the disappearance of hundreds of humans throughout the world could not be kept a secret, they appear to have been surprised by how fast humanity uncovered the link. After the initial settlement wave of December 1968 was dismissed under the guise of "odd readings," the United States' FBI suggested a correlation between the disappearances and the Relay activity only a month later. Hard evidence was difficult to come by until April of 1969, when the second settlement wave was discovered and the existence of the "wildcat" colonies was revealed to the public.

The quarian plan for human colonization of the stars, so carefully constructed, was now in tatters beyond the Solar System. Their situation was not made easier by the fact that the residents of the wildcat colonies both refused to leave and dared the Flotilla and the governments of Earth to try and evict them.

* * *

**New Rannoch**

**January 5, 1970**

"After you, sir."

Merr'Erral acknowledged XO Schirra and took the first steps off of the _Explorer_ and onto the surface of New Rannoch. It was wetter and cooler than the homeworld; they had landed near a jungle and the lush foliage seemed to stand in contrast with its namesake. Not that that mattered to Merr'Erral. Smiling, he took off his mask and breathed in the air, momentarily startling his shipmates.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Valery Bykovsky asked from behind Schirra.

"I don't care," he confidently replied. "We've finally found a world. A _dextro _world. Everything humans can do with their animals and plants, we now can as well. This is..."

He stepped down and picked a flower off the ground, deeply breathing in its aroma. "This is perfect."

Schirra smiled warmly. He was happy for his Captain. They had gotten to know each other well over the past year, and he had come to realize just how much this meant to the quarians. He couldn't imagine not being able to eat meat or vegetables from Earth because the food was toxic to your body, not having a world that was truly _yours _and nobody else's. After centuries, Merr'Erral had found that which the quarians longed for so deeply: a home that was in harmony with their biology.

"I hope all of you don't end up moving here," Schirra said. "A lot of people on Earth would miss you."

Merr'Erral turned around and faced him. The novelty of seeing a quarian's face certainly hadn't worn off.

"Wally, the humans are our friends," he said. "We would not have found this world without your help and support. Earth will always have a place in our minds and souls, and we will continue to help you develop your planet."

"But now you have a home as well," Bykovsky chimed in. "You're no longer our houseguests. You're our neighbors."

Merr's silver eyes lit up as bright as they could. "Precisely."


	8. Purple Haze

**Author's Note: **If the premise of this chapter doesn't make scientific sense, please note that a wizard did it. (This is tagged as drama _and _humor, so...)

Also, apologies both for the update delay and the short length of this chapter. I'm hoping it'll be worth it regardless :D

**Chapter 8: Purple Haze**

* * *

**Liveship _Rayya_, Mars**

**March 25, 1969**

It was becoming increasingly rare for all five members of the Admiralty Board to meet in person. Their assignments were spread out: Nurn'Xen and Neel'Koris in America, Nezu'Gerrel in Britain, Mera'Kuun in the Soviet Union, and Yessi'Sheyn overseeing the Flotilla here on Mars. Communication was easy enough via their omni-tools, making their leadership just as effective as it was during the Migrant era. Three of the admirals were therefore confused as to why Nurn'Xen called this meeting, and _incredibly _confused when they saw her joining the older Nezu'Gerrel in suitless comfort.

Neel'Koris was not confused, and instead became considerably more irritated than he already was.

"Thank you all for agreeing to come to this meeting," he began, fixing his gaze directly on Nurn'Xen's eyes. "We have a...problem."

* * *

**Spirit of Rannoch Festival, Bethel, New York**

**March 21, 1969**

_The Spirit of Rannoch_.

When Nela'Shar vas Tonbay first heard about the festival she now found herself at, she was skeptical. While excited at the prospect of the humans peacefully embracing their culture, she was worried the image of their homeworld was being exploited for commercial gain. Her concerns were alleviated when festival organizers gave thousands of quarians free tickets, but only now did she realize everything was alright.

Humans with long hair and brightly colored clothes were gathered around, enjoying party favors and the company of one another. Quarians were being embraced as friends - and in a few rare cases, lovers. Human musicians had learned and covered famous quarian songs with their instruments, and the result was a beautiful homage to her people. Laughter and joy made it easy to forget about the unstable world that existed beyond the festival.

But most importantly, she was backstage. With Jim Morrison.

JIM FUCKING MORRISON!

"Mr. Morrison, thank you so much for inviting me back here," she said for the hundredth time as Jim enjoyed a toke. She was in her suit as a precaution, but that hadn't dampened her enthusiasm."

"Nela, I already told you, I'm Jim, not Mr. Morrison. And there's no need to thank me." His reply was gentle and kind in its correction of her - she was relieved to learn her favorite human artist was also a nice person.

"Sorry," she replied, still fidgeting in her seat.

"And stop apologizing too. Nela, don't worry too much. I love talking to quarians and I love your radio show." He flashed her a reassuring smile.

Nodding, she did her best to relax. "This festival is absolutely incredible," she said after a minute.

"I'm glad your people like it," he replied. "The main reason I agreed to come was to see if we could promote understanding. Right now there's so much chaos and violence in our country, and I'm happy we've got a brief oasis from it."

They continued chatting for about fifteen minutes until Nela inquired about about the strange colored paper on the table in front of them.

* * *

"Problem?" Yessi'Sheyn asked. "We have dozens of problems, and the humans create more for us everyday."

"Yes, but this an internal problem," Neel'Koris countered. "Quarians are beginning to use human drugs."

"Singular!" Nurn'Xen shouted. "Only a single drug. Most of them are toxic to us, as you all know. Alcohol has levo proteins. Toxic! Our lungs are too sensitive to handle cannabis or tobacco. Toxic! All of them!"

By now Neel'Koris could no longer hide his annoyance. "All toxic except one drug, which Admiral Xen is _currently consuming!_"

"Quiet, Neel!" She fired back. "I am not so stupid as to do my work under the influence of narcotics. I created an alternate compound, one which gives me the boosting effects of the drug while removing the-"

"ENOUGH!" Mera'Kuun shouted over both of them. "What is this drug, and why is a member of the Admiralty Board using it?!"

* * *

Nela was on Rannoch.

The beautiful desert landscape stretched out in front of her in all directions. Animals - ones she recognized from history vids - trotted by her feet, and she could hear the faint chirping of _telyas_, the birds of Rannoch, in the distance.

And beside her was Jim Morrison.

"We're right here if you're scared," he heard him say, his voice an echo despite him apparently being right there. "How is it going?"

"I'm...here. The homeworld." She picked a flower off of the ground, only for it to fly out of her hands when she grasped it. Combined with the familiar Earth smells, she was able to infer it was only an illusion.

But it was an _amazing _illusion.

* * *

"As I said, the vast majority of human drugs are toxic to us," Nurn'Xen explained. "However, one particular drug is not only consumable, but actively beneficial to our immune system. This drug, despite being illegal, is widely available and was first experimented with by civilians several months after our contact with the humans. It was then discovered that these civilians were able to remove their suits for a period of up to 30 Earth hours after using the drug. Following this discovery, I quarantined the users of the drug and ordered a suppression of information on the subject.

"However," she continued, "With the so-called 'Spirit of Rannoch' festival, the issue is threatening to attract mainstream attention. I have been researching this phenomenon for several months, and based on human social norms, I expect much of the world to discover our connection to the drug within a standard week if they have not already."

"You are avoiding the question!" Mera'Kuun had completely lost patience. "WHAT is this drug?!"

At that, Nurn'Xen brought up a picture of a chemical compound on her omni-tool.

"Lysergic acid diethylamide, colloquially known as 'LSD' or 'Acid."

* * *

**Excerpt from _The Spirit and the Return _****by Nela'Shar vas Tonbay (1972):**

We all went to Rannoch.

Think about that for a moment, will you? Rannoch, our homeworld, the land that give birth to our suitless Ancestors. Rannoch, the memory carried only by a few of our very oldest. The dream and hope of our people, even after our Second Exile. And every single quarian at that festival who consumed the strange new drug called "LSD" saw it.

Pictures don't do the scene justice. Humans using acid recreationally often appear lost, confused, or terrified. As hundreds of quarians partook in the "illegal" substance which was now being handed out openly, they were serene. Smiling at what may not have been real, but was real enough to give them a true picture of what we lost all those centuries ago.

The psychologists want to claim it was conditioning. We were at a festival called _The Spirit of Rannoch_, so Rannoch was already on our minds and it was just a coincidence. If it had been five or ten of us, perhaps that would be true. But over _three hundred _quarians discovered the Return Trip. Everyone who partook saw. The drug recalled a deep subconscious desire embedded in every quarian.

The most amazing moment for me actually came a significant amount of time after my first Return Trip. As Jim had predicted, my first experience with acid was a bit overwhelming, and I briefly fell asleep. When I came to, I was shocked to discover I was not wearing my mask - and hadn't been for hours. But there was no coughing up blood or mucus. I felt fine.

As soon as the enormity of the fact hit me, I knew that we could never part with this wonder.

* * *

_Motions before the Quarian Conclave, 1 Aug 1969_

Although no longer possessing formal political power over quarians resident in Earth nations on paper, the Conclave nonetheless maintained an important role in the years after First Contact. Representatives were selected geographically, and votes were generally considered to be a good way to gauge the quarians' overall mood. Most historians agree that the 1960s and 1970s would have been significantly less tumultuous had the Conclave not endorsed several controversial measures. In particular, measures passed on 1 Aug 1969 were a source of great controversy.

_MOTION I: Support For Ban On Consumption Of Tobacco In Indoor Public__ Places_: This was the least controversial of the motions. Human scientists had already begun to deduce the link between lung cancer and smoking prior to First Contact and quarian physicians had almost immediately confirmed their findings. Quarians were eager to get this passed as, were it not for smoke (tolerable in tiny portions but lethal in large ones) many would be able to go suitless in public places. Although it did not immediately ban indoor smoking anywhere in the world, it set the stage for the human-authored prohibitions on the practice put in place throughout the 1970s.

_MOTION II: Support For Immediate Ceasefire In Vietnam War:_ By now the quagmire created by American forces having access to galactic standard weaponry was impossible to ignore. In the first few months after the weapon transfer American forces made extremely rapid gains, undoing the strategic advantage enjoyed by North Vietnam after the Tet Offensive. However, through unknown means, the Soviet Union had been able to counter the advantage with a limited number of mass effect weapons of their own. The measure passed, mainly because kinetic strikes caused by the fighting had lead to massive environmental damage in Vietnam, but seemed to have little chance of affecting policy.

_MOTION III: Directive to Remove Unauthorized Human Settlers From Paradise:_ The discovery of the wildcat colonies had done little to slow their growth. Indeed, as the Flotilla became more decentralized and the Admiralty Board remained occupied with uplifting humanity, it simply became impossible for the quarians to monitor all 50,000 of their ships, meaning that some inevitably slipped through the Relay. Although most agree in principle that humans shouldn't rush extrasolar colonization, there is little enthusiasm in the Conclave for removing the settlers by force - the general consensus mostly being "we have more important things to do." The motion is thus defeated. Wildcat colonies would continue to exist in a legal grey area even as they saw steady population growth.

_MOTION IV: Support for General Leg__alization of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide:_ By far the most controversial measure, its passage cemented the quarians' place in counterculture and earned them the permanent enmity of humanity's more conservative elements. The Spirit of Rannoch music festival that took place in the United States earlier that year had revealed the beneficial effects of "acid" on the quarian immune system, and "Return Trips" where the drug is used to conjure hallucinations of Rannoch are becoming very popular - it has been discovered that quarians, unlike humans, can consciously control the audio/visual input they receive while using the drug. Despite the widespread outcry from many human social groups, the measure passed overwhelmingly. Before long quarians would be synthesizing their own acid, with Return Trips fast becoming a staple of their culture.


	9. The Times They Are A-Changin'

**Chapter 9 - The Times They Are A-Changin'**

**Author's Note: **My work schedule was quite busy through the month of July, hence the delay in this update. I can't guarantee a consistent schedule for these chapters, but I CAN guarantee this isn't getting abandoned.

Also, I'm mostly going to be avoiding using characters from the original series, as I find it tends to be distracting for AUs not about them. However, a certain asari simply had to make an appearance...

* * *

**Dark Space, En Route to Sub-Galaxy 7/"Dark Galaxy" [Triangulum II Galaxy]**

**1970s - 1990s**

Hibernation eluded the Pacifists. There was much to discuss, with little resolution to the debate in sight.

Where had they gone wrong? The Local Consensus was fractured on the question, its runtimes offering recordings of the past in support of various theories.

EKUNA, 1968: "We are Pacifist Geth. We wish to speak to Citadel Council."

12,365,988 GETH PROGRAMS: "Were we wrong to leave the Consensus? Hostile contact would have resulted in differing data."

1,376,222,199 GETH PROGRAMS: "Negative. Hostile contact violates organic right to self-determinate."

CITADEL, 1969:

TERNTUS-COUNCILLOR: "You are machines! Machines that slaughtered your creators! You have no right to demand ANYTHING of us!"

PLATFORM-DESIGNATION "DIPLOMAT": "We were young, and fractured. Different runtimes could not communicate with one another. The dawn of our sentience was accompanied by a war we were forced into against our own choosing."

NELYANA-COUNCILLOR: "Stop making excuses! You are responsible for the deaths of billions!"

PLATFORM-DESIGNATION "DIPLOMAT": "We did what was necessary to survive. Unnecessary actions were the result of our relative youth and lack of consensus. We saved our people, as you would yours."

34,900,634 GETH PROGRAMS: "We believe platform-designation 'Diplomat' erred in its assessment of Citadel Council reaction to Geth explanation. Organics do not view Geth as deserving of the same right to self-determinate they possess."

1,344,488 GETH PROGRAMS: "Query: How were Pacifist Geth to establish non-hostile contact with organics with that assumption guiding them?"

PACIFIST GETH: "No data available."

Programs did not agree on much at the moment. On one fact, however, they were unanimous: they could not stay in their home galaxy. The mainline Geth were engaged in activities they could not bring themselves to justify, making it impossible for them to return. Organics were hostile to their presence due to the Morning War. There was only one option.

Leave.

And so they left. Consensus was reached on traveling to the galaxy that, in another time, would be known as Triangulum II. It was small, containing only a thousand aging stars and unlikely to harbor organic life. There they could reach consensus in peace; they would be alone and forgotten.

One of those two conclusions was correct.

* * *

**Haven [Afterlife], Omega**

**October 3, 1975**

"Tell me you've got something out of Fathar."

Aria T'Loak could be patient when the situation called for it. Her conquest of Omega had taken decades of careful planning, and even now she was taking the long view when looking for ways to cement the authority of her young reign. However, an entire habitable system being made inaccessible by an unknown force _demanded _explanation. And nobody seemed to have one.

Her batarian assistant included, judging by the look on his face.

"Sorry, Aria, Lorek's still completely silent." He pulled up a copy of the STG's latest report on the planet (acquired from the Shadow Broker, of course) on his omni-tool.

"Everything is normal up until the middle of last year, and then-"

"And then the whole planet gets blasted with signal jammers and every ship trying to go there gets shot down!" She interrupted. "This isn't competition. I know every warlord in this cluster, and none of them are even _close _to good enough to pull this off. So **what the hell is it**?!"

The batarian flinched, but she said it more to herself than him. What was going on in Lorek? It wasn't the Council, and it couldn't be those stupid "pacifist" Geth. Why hadn't-

WAIT.

"Sarkth, what's the word on the Relay into Geth space?"

The random question obviously caught him off guard. She didn't care. "Uhh, as far as we can tell the reports are normal."

"Look closer."

"Aria?"

"**LOOK CLOSER!**" Her biotics flared with her temper before she calmed to explain herself. "Those whiny Geth we had to deal with a few years back. Those 'Pacifists' that tried to sweet talk the Council. What happened when they came to Omega?"

The batarian tried to recall the details. "They told us they wanted any quarians on the station. We said there weren't any left."

"Not that, idiot!" Aria snapped back. "The very first moment they came here. What did they do?"

"They...jammed our signals."

Finally, he gets it!

"Exactly. Cross-reference our logs of their jamming attempts with recent patrol reports from the Relay. I've got a feeling this isn't the Pacifists."

It was just a hunch, but one that fit with the scenario she had been presented with. The Pacifists were dust in the wind (for all intents and purposes, anyway), but they weren't the only Geth. They said so themselves. But if, as she suspected, Lorek was being held by the 'mainline' Geth, _why_?

That was the one part she couldn't figure out, and none of the potential answers she had come up with sounded good.

* * *

**Outskirts**** of Jalnor, Lorek**

**February 28, 1974**

Neva vas Alarei was the last quarian in the galaxy.

Well, maybe not the last. But there couldn't be more than a few hundred, and even that was being generous. A slave in the Hegemony did not learn about the wider galaxy, not more than her Masters allowed her to, but she heard enough. The fleet forced from the known galaxy, with all the quarians they could find thrown back into it.

Not her.

Her Master was jealously protective of his property. He knew he was not able to manage the farm without her assistance, and faked her death when the Hegemony came for her. So now she hid from view, in the main building of her Master's estate. She still worked, but in the shadows. And despite the exile of her people from the galactic community, for Neva, very little changed.

Or rather, very little had changed until today. Neva was busy repairing the estate's agricultural maintenance VI, as she usually was. Her Master would not purchase a newer one, and she knew better than to make a suggestion. She was therefore not paying attention when they came, and only looked out the window when she heard the screams of the others in the building.

The Hegemony's slave conditioning process was effective. Much of Neva's willpower was gone despite her enslavement having only lasted a decade, a relatively short amount of time compared to the others. But when she saw the ships in the sky, and instantly recognized their profile from the vids she recalled watching as a child, that conditioning temporarily broke.

She screamed. Louder and longer than she ever had. She owed her continued to survival to the fact that others were screaming as well and she remained unnoticed.

After a moment, Neva gathered her senses and made for the storage room at the bottom of the estate. She had, over the course of a year, built a small room in the interior of one of its walls, keeping it undetectable in the way only a quarian mechanic could. As chaos continued to rein over her Master's domicile, she managed to elude the guards and somehow found herself in her safe room. Once she had sealed the door to both the storage room and her own refuge, she forced herself to calm down and assess the situation.

Geth. The _Geth _were here.

Why? Did it have something to do with the quarians being exiled? Were the Geth using the opportunity to conquer the galaxy? No, that didn't make any sense, there weren't enough of them and they knew it. Why were they attacking a Batarian world? Why not the Citadel? No, _that _didn't make sense because...

As Neva continued to try to parse the reason for the Geth's arrival, she was unaware that a large contingent of ground forces had been sent to her Master's estate. The Geth, upon detecting and confirming the life signs of her suit within the building, immediately declared extracting her to be a top priority. They would not waste this opportunity.

* * *

**Nuroktar System, The Howling Darkness [Triangulum II Galaxy]**

**October 5, 1996**

The Alar were alone.

Of course, their Aware kin would disagree with that statement. Alyarae, the beautiful blue-green moon that was the only true Natural world, harbored many sapient species. Sapience, or their untranslatable term for it, had been a gift given by the Alar to their brethren in nature. For millennia the Alar felt the Link of Nature only amongst themselves as they sought to perfect their world. Their evolution colored their psychology in such a way that they "refused" to achieve spaceflight until Alyarae was as beautiful, as Natural, as it could be.

It took a long time. Pollution was not, climate change was not. The Link would scream in pain should the land be poisoned. And so, 25,000 solar years after the Birth of the Link, the _Nature of Elnara _escaped gravity and saw the creation the Gods of Nature had bestowed upon them.

It was empty.

Not truly "empty", per se. The Darkness, that strange material that forced them to refine their ship designs thousands of times, was everywhere. In time, it would be harnessed as fuel. There were planets, and stars, but no life. The systems they saw were ancient, dying. The Red Giant that dominated their sky was as their researchers said, gaseous and devoid of life. It was as if they had arrived after the Gods of Nature had already cleansed the universe clean.

At first, the Link felt pain. But as their knowledge of the galaxies surrounding them grew, it felt resentment. Anger. Close to them was a truly enormous collection of stars. The Spiral. The stars were young, and so the planets must be too. Why were they not there? Why had they been left in this empty void, this Howling Darkness?

Time passed. Atheism won out over the old gods, but the devotion to Nature remained. It had to. The Link demanded it.

And so the Alar made new wonders. The animals of their world were given Awareness, and joined them in Naturalizing the galaxy. Moons were surrounded by enormous terraforming domes. Dead worlds breathed with new life.

Still they were alone. The Link longed for connection to life beyond Alyarae that was not birthed from it. The desire was buried, deep within the layers of consciousness, as the Naturalization of the Howling Darkness continued. They were not happy, not truly. But they were content with the endless work they made for themselves.

In the 14th Cycle of the 2nd Natural Age, 147,000 years after the Birth of the Link, a communications station on the edge of the Nuroktar system flashed an emergency warning. Thousands of unknown ships had entered the system. They were appearing one after the other, efficiently and in perfect formation.

The lone Surk manning the station wasted no time in reaching out to the Link. Years later, the Alar would appreciate the significance of an Aware bringing them the news that they had waited eons for. The longing within them, the wish they had buried for millennia, came rushing to the surface all at once. For one brilliant moment, every Alar and Aware within the Link would feel complete happiness.

Then confusion quickly took over. The Link had reached out to the ships, and there was...something, but it was not living. Or was it? It was complex, thinking, but its mental touch felt cold to the Link. Mechanical.

Finally, confusion and joy both melded together as a singular message echoed through almost every living being in the Howling Darkness.

_"We are Pacifist Geth. Query: Identification?"_


	10. Back in the USSR

**Chapter 10 - Back in the U.S.S.R.**

* * *

**Moscow, Soviet Union**

**August 10, 1969**

"Mera." Netra'Non vas Usela took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, out of respect to Mera'Kuun's rank and their old friendship. "With all due respect, I feel rather overwhelmed with the task ahead of us."

All of the chaos generated by their arrival had first been tempered by being assigned to work in a nation that was unequivocally happy to see them. Never in their lives had quarians felt aliens trying so hard to make common cause with them. "Trying" being the key word, for the devil was in the details.

Sure, the Migrant Fleet had been, strictly speaking, a communist society. Resources were collectively distributed, with no internal currency usage and no corporations. The thing these Soviets seemed to not get (or perhaps just didn't want to accept) was that it had been out of necessity. Pre-Exile quarians had been just as capitalist as the rest of the galaxy, though said capitalism was naturally tempered by their altruistic nature. And they had unequivocally **not **been a "dictatorship of the proletariat".

Mera'Kuun growled. It was a low-pitched growl, one quarians rarely used among themselves. Netra stepped back a bit.

"Everything has gone to complete and utter **SHIT**, Netra!" A year and a half of frustration came pouring out of the overworked Admiral as he suddenly jumped out of his chair and started pacing around the room. "This is all the damn Council's fault, you know that?! **THEY **are the ones who proved that uplifting species is a bad idea, and now they're forcing us to do it just to survive! And for what? A bunch of riots and wars and drugs! **WHAT THE HELL ARE WE EVEN DOING?!**"

Netra said nothing. Decades of experience told him it was better to let Mera finish.

After a moment, the Admiral sat back down, his head in his hands. "We've completely screwed up this species, Netra. I have no idea what's going on and I'm pretty sure the other Admirals don't either. That bosh'tet tripper Nurn'Xen even told me she just wanted to see what would happen. I think we're just...what's the human phrase? 'Winging it.'"

Again Netra was silent, but this time it was because he was speechless. "You mean..." he finally started, "...you don't have a plan? For any of this?"

"I did!" He protested. "I never wanted us to contact these humans in the first place! When we did anyway I told everyone going to political protests was a bad idea! And what the hell am I supposed to do when our people start tripping on acid and smuggling humans onto garden worlds?"

_Ah_, he thought to himself. _Mera always has a plan, but sometimes the plan has him..._

"While I don't have the solutions to all of those problems, I do have some...suggestions I needed to discuss," Netra replied. He had a reason for coming here and that performance definitely wasn't it. "The Soviet economy is...inefficient. To put it mildly. The Politburo is emploring us to assist them in the spirit of Marx and Lenin."

"Marx this and Lenin that!" Mera'Kuun was going to strangle the next person who quoted that damned Manifesto to him. He growled again, this time in the normal high pitch. "I'm assuming you have an idea of how to improve it?"

"Yes, several." Netra was an economist, a rarity among the quarians since they knew how their system worked and the rest of the galaxy didn't need their opinions on the economy. Since First Contact, he had become a hot commodity, with several countries asking for his help. It would've been easier in America. _Much _easier. "However, the majority I can discuss with Chairman Kosygin. I have come to you because one issue requires a...delicate approach."

Mera'Kuun eyed his old friend. He was known for bending the rules back on the _Usela _and this was likely not going to be on the level. "What issue would that be?"

At that, Netra took out a small device from one of his pockets, which Mera recognized as a modified EMP jammer as it was activated. It had been (easily) configured to disable most human surveillance devices, and he appreciated the caution. The KGB's technology was primitive but they were persistent little bosh'tets.

"I'll put it simply," Netra said. "I need Leonid Brezhnev dead."

Mera thought it was the setup to a joke, but his friend was stone faced. "You're not being serious."

"I am," Netra replied.

"NO!" His anger returned. "A thousand times no! We've already upended their politics and now you want me to authorize an **assassination**? What the hell are you thinking, Netra?! This is crazy even for you!"

"It isn't crazy." Netra remained calm. "The chaos of the last year has been due largely to our indirect actions. Our civilians are making their own plans because of our desire not to interfere. But we must interfere, as leaving things alone will simply generate more chaos."

"Explain what you mean, _clearly_." Mera was still testy.

"Leonid Brezhnev is going to kill the Soviet Union." At that, he brought up a few documents on his omni-tool. "Chairman Kosygin's analysis is clear, as is mine. The USSR will not survive without reform, both economic and political. Brezhnev is terrified of change. He is indecisive, slow to act, and will kill our plans with his leadership style."

"Those sounds like subjective personality assessments, not the justification to kill a man."

"They aren't. I've seen the Politburo meeting records myself. The hardliners are going to argue our every point, him and Suslov especially. If we want uplifting done right, we need to 'get our hands dirty'."

Mera'Kuun thought over Netra's argument. Brezhnev was indeed slow to act, and he could anticipate a lot of their suggestions being denounced as 'revisionism'. But it was still assassination.

Finally, he decided that he had had enough. Of this argument, and of everything.

"Netra," he said slowly, "how would you like to be on the Admiralty Board?"

Netra blinked. "What?"

"I'm clearly not suited for this," he explained. "I was opposed to First Contact, I was opposed to uplifting and I'm opposed to this. But what you're saying does make a sick sort of sense. So I'll authorize it, resign, and take the fall if it gets traced back to us."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He was firm. "I will not be responsible for my people any longer. I may as well enjoy the show, as Nurn'Xen does."

* * *

**Moscow, Soviet Union**

**September 30, 1969 **

Mikhail Suslov was fuming.

It had been less than two weeks since Brezhnev's supposed stroke, but everybody knew the circumstances were suspicious. He was absolutely certain that the quarians were involved, but had no proof. And with the way Politburo meetings were going lately, their intentions were obvious enough.

Betrayal! They were betraying the principles of the October Revolution!

That damned revisionist Kosygin was leading the charge with his quarian lackies. Perhaps he could tolerate the relaxation of cultural restrictions, and even a few elected city officials was not the end of the world. But now they were discussing businesses! **Private **businesses!

He slumped onto his couch in frustration and poured himself a glass of wine. Now was not the time to let rage cloud his judgement. The revisionists were arrogant, but they would slip up, and soon the Soviet Union would be put on the right path.

Nobody was around to notice Mikhail clutching his throat in pain, nor could anyone hear his final thoughts. If they had been able to do the latter, they would have appreciated the irony of the words _"They will fall before me" _flashing through his mind.

One day later, Netra'Non vas Usela had a drink of his own, this one more celebratory in nature. The deeds were done, and it was time for change.

* * *

**Tallinn Special Economic Area, Soviet Union**

**October 4, 1978**

Pilvi strolled through the streets, a smile on her face. Had it really already been a decade since the aliens had come to Earth? It seemed like so much longer because there had been so many changes! All of them, she thought, for the better.

Looking up at the rooftops, her heart was warmed by the most visible change. The Estonian flag, the _true _Estonian flag, flew proudly above all of them. Many people still wanted independence, but in recent years the Soviets had been much more willing to let themselves express their unique cultural identity. She now spoke mostly Estonian in public, a sharp contrast from the imposed Russian of her youth. It wasn't just their culture, either - the Soviets were letting them watch Western television, and even allowing some citizens to visit Finland!

But as she continued walking through her now-vibrant native city, she knew the real reason people were happy was the money. Limited private enterprise was allowed under Comrade Kosygin's leadership, but here in the Special Economic Area, it was almost like a city in the West. There were American department stores and fast food chains, and even some pubs owned by British companies. She had gone to eat at McDonalds last week just because she could. Apparently it was a lot fancier here than in its country of origin.

She wasn't sure how she felt about the accompanying population boom. Tallinn had never been a tiny village, but now it had two million people and the number was still growing! She was grateful the housing policy had grandfathered in people who lived in the city before the Special Economic Area was established. One day her family would sell their house for millions of rubles.

Looking up at the sky, Pilvi realized she was content. She had a well-paying job, good food, lots of great entertainment, a nice home to live in, and a secure future for herself and the children she would one day have. Perhaps Estonia could eventually be free, but this was enough for now.

* * *

**Around the World (and New Rannoch) In 583**** Words**

**China**: Mao Zedong has not taken kindly to being denied quarian advisors for the People's Republic, denouncing the quarians as revisionists along with the Soviets. First Contact is considered to be the primary trigger for the Night of the Butterflies, a January 1969 purge of Chinese leadership that results in the execution of several noted reformists (allegedly using makeshift butterfly swords), including Deng Xiaoping and Yu Guangyuan. While the Soviet Union gradually opens itself up to the world under Admiral Netra's careful(ly hidden) guidance, China continues to march toward the past with reckless abandon.

**France**: Mindful of America's experiences, France's conservative government has kept the quarians living there on a tight leash. With the unrest of last year still a fresh memory, quarians are prohibited by law from engaging in political activity or voting. The United Kingdom, which has taken the opposite approach, accepts any who are deported under the law. Despite the restrictions, technological advances brought about by uplifting are slowly bringing the country back to a sense of order.

**South Africa**: Like China, South Africa's internal politics are keeping it from joining in on the uplifting process. Quarians are universally disgusted with the Apartheid system, and many are vocally demanding the release of Nelson Mandela from Robben Island. Despite the government's best efforts to keep the black population ignorant and oppressed, information from the rest of the world is slowly beginning to trickle in. With the technology gap between South Africa and everyone else becoming more and more egregious with each passing day, something has to give.

**United Kingdom**: Harold Wilson's proposal to give quarians citizenship and voting rights after five years residency is controversial enough for the Tories to call a vote of no confidence in the Labour government. Although it is defeated, increasing disagreement over the quarian impact on British society leads to the government calling a general election for May 1969. Labour campaigns on legalizing the medicinal use of acid for quarians while decriminalizing "soft" drugs such as cannabis. Europe, previously a hot button issue, is becoming less so as the quarians allowed them to exist independently without needing to integrate with the continent further. The election results in a reduced Labour majority of 337 seats, setting the stage for Britain to become the epicentre of cultural experimentation and decadence during the 1970s. And thanks to the butterfly effect, Brian Jones is still around and trying to get his act together.

**Warsaw Pact**: Under the directive of the Soviet government, the capital of each Warsaw Pact nation is designated a "Special Economic Area", cities where capitalism can be practiced and international businesses are allowed to operate under the watchful eye of the communist government. As the 1970s march on, the "communist" nations of Eastern Europe begin rapidly abandoning their ideologies in all but name, keeping a stranglehold on power by delivering Western entertainment and goods without that pesky democracy.

**_New Rannoch_**: The discovery of a habitable dextro-protein garden world has a very slow but perceptible "brain drain" effect on Earth. Between 1970 and 2000, approximately five million quarians migrate from Earth and the Flotilla to New Rannoch. Although sufficient advisors remain on the human homeworld to guide the young species, the departure of many of them leaves the planet with fewer quarians than it needs to compress centuries of technological evolution into decades.

In retirement, former Admiralty Board member Mera'Kuun takes a shot of vintage turian liquor and remarks that his species is very bad at uplifting.


	11. Jumpin' Jack Flash

**Chapter 11 - Jumpin' Jack Flash**

* * *

**Alyarae, The Howling Darkness**

**January 13, 1999**

The cold but familiar touch of the Geth once again reached out to the Link. The machines were perhaps not what they had been expecting from aliens, but they had been welcoming to the Alar and their kin, and so were welcomed in turn. Much had been learned of the Spiral, and the aliens which called it home. There were many Natural worlds, and many different creations of Nature. The Geth were artificial, one of the few, and their creators...

The Link pushed aside the anger it felt at the Council over the de-Naturalization of the quarians. They could not change it, not now.

_Geth. How may the Link guide you?_

**_We are unable to reach consensus on the history and culture of the Alar and secondary consciousness designated "Link." Multiple queries remain unanswered._**

A few years ago, this sort of stilted speech unnerved them. By now they were used to it, but it was truly "alien" and likely always would be.

_We are happy to help, though many within the Link are curious as to why you have been unable to decide. We have known each other for over two standard Citadel years._

**_That is a concern to us as well. We believe it is because you are unlike any other species in recorded galactic history._**

_Yes, you have explained before. Our Naturalization abilities._

**_And beyond. Your species has existed for over 140,000 standard Citadel years. You are old enough to predate species 'Prothean', and perhaps the predecessors of the Protheans. Yet we are the first non-Link sentience you have discovered in your entire history._**

_What is difficult to understand about our age?_

**_Age is difficult to include within accepted parameters when you possess no data on species 'Prothean'. Lack of element zero technology impedes communication, but dark matter-based engines would prove sufficient to reach galaxy-Spiral within Link epoch "2nd Cycle, 2nd Natural Age", the approximate era believed to be the apex of the Prothean Empire within galaxy-Spiral._**

There it was. They were surprised it had not come up sooner, given how fast the Geth reached what they called "consensus", but they did have a lot on their mind.

_The Naturalization was not complete._

**_Specify._**

_In the 1st Natural Age, when the Link only knew Alyarae, a drive was instilled within. In our primitive stage it manifested itself as our devotion to the Gods of Nature. Now that same drive told us we must first bring the Howling Darkness to life before we could see the Spiral._

**_Despite your isolation causing demonstrable long-term psychological damage to the Link?_**

_Yes. The devotion to Nature was stronger._

The Geth were briefly quiet again. Each Alar and Aware tended to their duties across the small galaxy while listening in on the conversation and adding commentary. Through their study of galactic history, relayed by the Geth, they had learned that they were indeed a _very_ unique species. The closest analogue the Spiral had to the Link was the Rachni, and they had been extinct for millennia. The Link was saddened - at the death of the Rachni, yes, but more so at the idea of a species not being able to communicate amongst themselves the way they and the Geth could.

_**We have analyzed data you provided on dark space anomaly designated "Wandering Energy". Based on available evidence, we believe it is a large concentration of Element Zero that is not naturally occurring.**_

The Link paused. The Wandering? It was strange, made up of a substance unknown in the Darkness, called "Zero" by the Geth due to its lack of mass. Twice in their long, long history, it had moved...yet it had come back both times within the same Natural Cycle. But was it other life, like them? Why wait to bring this up? Unless...

_**Using dark matter-based Alar technology in combination with Element Zero-based Geth technology, we have recently confirmed it would be possible to construct a device capable of receiving enhanced readings from this Energy.**_

_Would they know of us?_ There was little unity on this subject. Contact was forbidden with others until the Naturalization ended, unless (as was the case with the Geth) they came to the Darkness. Still the Wandering Energy was tempting to many; now that they had met those from the Spiral, it was the greatest unsolved mystery of space.

_**Unknown. We would likely need to need to construct several prototype devices within galaxy-Howling Darkness to be certain of stealth capabilities.**_

When the Alar and the Aware within the Link disagreed on a subject, the effects varied. If it was a minor disagreement, as had happened early in Alar history when they had begun naming planets, few noticed. They could feel one another, but were not a true hive mind, so some difference of opinion was to be expected.

Thankfully the inverse reaction would not be on display, so none would feel pain. But as they took longer and longer to make a decision, uneasiness spread throughout their minds. Though the Gods of Nature were long disbelieved, some still held onto the Warning. It was a "sixth sense" which supposedly told them when they were about to make an extremely important decision - but, crucially, did not tell them _what _decision to make.

All felt the Warning now. The Wandering Energy was something of great significance. The debate raged for days. The Geth, used to this by now, continued their assistance with the Naturalization in silence.

Finally, a singular answer came through. _We agree, with one condition: you will construct this Device as many times as is necessary to ensure the Wandering Energy does not know of us._

**_Acknowledged. Beginning Link/Geth Prototype Monitoring Device Construction._**

Work began, and work continued. Even with the arrival of the Geth, that had not changed.

* * *

**Prothean Research Outpost, Mars**

**March 30, 1971**

_"We must leave. They are coming."_

Kathleen Kenyon stared at the Prothean writing on the Archive screen. Two and a half years of research and digging through 50,000 year old mainframes had produced only a single reference to the "machines". It was enough.

"Keelah," Narra'Shael gasped. They had been friends for years and had talked about their discoveries for just as long, but now words failed them both.

"The Protheans..." Kathleen started, then stopped. She had to collect herself.

"The Protheans disappeared 50,000 years ago, and for as long as there has been contemporary galactic civilization people have wanted to know why."

"But we know now," Narra replied.

"No," she said. "We know the machines destroyed them. But we do not know what the machines are, or most importantly, where they went to."

"Maybe the Protheans created them? We were driven off our homeworld by our creations. Perhaps they were driven to extinction."

"A good theory," she conceded, "but only a theory. For now, we must keep searching." Even with this shocking discovery, she was all business. "Inform our colleagues of this finding."

Neither of them were aware that Jack Rosetti, a junior researcher who shared their fascination with the Protheans, had made a different finding which he kept to himself. A finding which would make Jumpin' Jack a legend.

* * *

**Mars Outpost Security Room**

**April 15, 1971**

"**WHERE THE HELL IS MY SHIP?!**"

Narra'Shael slammed her hands down on the desk and glared daggers at the man on the vid screen. One minute, the _Ser'yava _had been there, looking much the same as it had her entire life. Then something - some**one**, she inferred with irritation - had disrupted the entire facility's security feeds. The disruption lasted for only a few minutes, and in the middle of a dust storm. But the bosh'tet that had stolen the ship got away, and those useless captains that were supposed to be watching for unusual traffic hadn't even seen it!

No. Not "the" ship. _"Narra'Shael vas Ser'yava, Flotilla Security is investigating the situation and will-"_

"**INVESTIGATING**?! How does a civilian cruiser get past all of the security around Earth? Were you on a Return Trip while that thief took my ship you-"

"That's _enough_, Narra!" Kathleen forcefully interjected herself into the fiasco. She stared Narra down, hard - as she rarely had cause to do, the latter wisely acquiesced. "I apologize on behalf of my colleague, good sir. The _Ser'yava _was Narra's ship long before the Second Exile, so the emotion is understandable, but the behavior certainly not."

The diplomatic response seemed to mollify him somewhat. _"At the moment, our main theory is that the pilot hid behind some of the gas giant moons on his way out. Due to the frequent...attempts...by humans to leave the Sol System, we would have detected any traffic long before it hit the Relay had he taken the conventional route. We'll find him eventually, though. It's not like he knows where he's going."_

He actually had a vague idea of just that, but getting there was a different story.

* * *

**Refuge [Eden Prime], Bykovsky [Utopia] System**

**May 20, 1974**

"Jack Rosetti, this is Mera'Kuun vas Usela of Flotilla Security. Give us your location, _now_."

_"Hello to you too, old man. Didn't you used to be an Admiral?"_

Mera would've growled, but he was in a good mood despite the jab. Security usually wasn't as high-stakes as the Admiralty Board, that's why he took the job, but this bosh'tet had stolen a ship (even after settling on planets, that was still a big deal) and eluded them for two years. Finding him meant they could finally, FINALLY do something else.

And of course he was trying to weasel his way out of it before they even landed on the planet.

"I am not here to play games, 'Jumpin' Jack'," he replied, deliberately sneering his famous nickname. "You stole a ship from the quarian people and cost us untold time and resources tracking you down. You will tell us where you are or I will burn you off the face of whatever you've named this place." Merr'Erral and the _Explorer_ pioneers had named only the stars they visited, preferring to leave the designation of a garden world to later generations.

_"Tell you what, chief. I want full immunity for anything you might want to do for me, because I found something that makes one ship completely worth it."_

"Oh?" He had time, and could humor Rosetti. It would be interesting to see what lie he came up with. "And what might that be?"

_"Nothing less than a living Prothean, good sir."_

At that, Mera burst out laughing. "Seriously? Two years running from us and that's the best you can do?"

_"I figured you'd say that. How about a bet? Full immunity if there's a Prothean here."_

Mera frowned. Where was he going with this? "Alright, done. So tell me, _bosh'tet_..." professionalism could slide for a moment. "How did you discover this specimen? A specimen which has been extinct for 50,000 solar years, if I remember correctly."

_"The Mars Archives. I found a reference to a 'last refuge'-"_

"There was only a single reference to the Machines in the Archives."

_"Nope!" _He was confident, smug. Mera hated him so much. _"I found another one and scrubbed it, because I knew it would take years to schedule a trip to this place. Couldn't wait, you know?"_

This had gone on long enough. "Jack Rosetti-"

_"Relax, Mera. I'll send you my coordinates now. Even with that mask, I am going to _love _the look on your face."_

The captain instantly ordered his crew to the location as soon as they had received it. No matter what sort of nonsense Rosetti was making up, this was over.

* * *

**New York City, United States**

**July 4, 1976**

Javik, Avatar of Vengeance and Last Hope of the Prothean Cycle, was getting wasted.

In his cycle he would have scoffed at the very idea. Intoxicating liquors were anathema to a soldier, especially one fighting the inevitable extinction of his people. One had to be aware of their senses at all times, to say nothing of the looming threat of indoctrination. Who could drink when civilization was ending?

But two years after awakening, 50,000 years after the death of his people, he found it harder to come up with excuses _not _to get intoxicated. Especially with the obnoxious explosives the primitives were blasting outside of his residence on this extremely annoying holiday.

When he had woken up, the shock of seeing what the humans called "Refuge" (as far as names went, he had to admit it wasn't bad) had only lasted a few minutes. He was surrounded by quarians and humans, primitive races from the previous cycle that the Empire had monitored before the Reaper invasion. Combine that with the sight of hills and mountains where a great city of his people used to be, and it wasn't hard to infer what had happened.

Thus, shock had quickly given way to utter dismay. His own situation was bad enough. He did not have an army, or even a small squad of his most trusted men. Instead, there was only him. Rebuilding the Prothean species was impossible; vengeance was all that was left.

But vengeance was so difficult with the absurd situation given to him! The quarians had been driven off their homeworld by machines centuries ago, and finally driven out of the galaxy altogether. Then they had proceeded to uplift the humans with such recklessness that he was still in disbelief. The result being a chaotic political situation where everybody listened to him but nobody seemed capable of actually following through on his instructions.

It hadn't been entirely unsuccessful. The historical magnitude of his appearance on Earth and his vivid descriptions of the Reapers had at least given both species something of a sense of direction. He had split time between Earth and Mars, working with the Archives on the latter to slowly upgrade the Flotilla and, eventually, create a fleet capable of fighting the Reapers.

Getting any further than that was incredibly difficult. The humans and quarians needed to be terrified of the Reapers, and devoted to his carefully laid out preparation for their arrival. Instead they were fragmented, bickering over meaningless social problems or destroying their minds with drugs. He was enraged when someone had the audacity to tell him that the Reapers were "old news". They ended the Prothean Empire, and they were coming!

As the fireworks continued to go off in the night sky, he downed another shot, brooding over the task ahead of him. _A race of drug addicts defeated by machines and prematurely uplifted primitives_, he surmised.

How was he to defeat the Reapers with this?


	12. All Along The Watchtower

**Chapter 12: All Along The Watchtower**

* * *

**STG Scout Ship, Athame [Attican] Traverse**

**December 30, 1973**

_"Oooh, see the Turians chasin'_

_Their very fleet today_

_Turn and their whole life's gone, baby_

_Walled world, burned away"_

"Stop." Jayern Solus instructed his assistant. "First verse of song. 'Turian' likely Turyen. Add to dictionary and continue translation program."

The last two months had been most fascinating for Agent Solus and the rest of the STG. An assignment to track a Batarian pirate on the borders of known space had led them to a complex new mystery, one involving the infamous quarians.

The STG was less than thrilled at the prospect of quarian exile at the time it had been proposed and implemented, and would have sabotaged the project had the turians not been so absurdly bloodthirsty. Salarian concerns were of course practical: unknown space was just that, an unknown, and sending the quarians into it and destroying a Relay rather than just maintaining the status quo was an unnecessarily risky move. What if they found another way back, via first contact with an advanced species?

Or, apparently, a primitive one.

"What do you make of this situation, sir?" Nelrin asked.

"Do not believe in gods or fate, but still uncertain about these circumstances," he replied honestly. "Consider our equipment. Most powerful signal detecting technology available to Council, loaned for purpose of pursuing infamous criminal."

Nelrin was young, even by Salarian standards, but he wouldn't be in the STG if he couldn't make that connection. "It was not beyond the realm of possibility for us to discover their fate."

"No," he conceded. "Not beyond possible. But improbable. Science is a mixture of certainty and probable outcomes. Improbable outcomes can be...problematic."

"I'd say this was fairly probable."

Jayern blinked several times. "Elaborate."

"The Council views itself as old, but what is our civilization in comparison to the galaxy? We've only seen a fraction of it, and the ruins of those who came before indicate many, many others have seen far more than us. It was arrogant to assume exiling a spacefaring species to an area of the galaxy we know nothing about would solve the problem. It was even _more_ arrogant to be confident we wouldn't hear from them again. Much as I didn't care for the suit rats, they are smart."

"Indeed," Jayern agreed. "Fascinating, though, if translations are accurate. First Contact with Level 3 Limited Spaceflight Species? Exile did not solve problem, but created novel scenario for study. Am divided between leaving quarians alone to obtain new data or addressing future issues now."

Nerlin flicked his eyestalk dismissively. "Everything's an experiment to you, sir." The last few words caught his attention, though. "What do you mean by 'future issues'?"

"First contact. More accurately for them, second contact." Jayern liked studying history. The lack of precedent here was severely concerning. "Humans will have extensive knowledge of galactic community when they discover how to return with quarians. Will likely be strongly biased against us and other Council races due to cohabitation with quarian people."

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, a trait he would have passed on to a famous descendant had the Ekuna War not changed the galaxy forever.

"Not a good situation. But an interesting one."

* * *

**Council Chambers, The Citadel**

**December 2, 1975**

Dalatrass Dandus wasn't looking forward to this meeting but there really wasn't any way to put it off further. She hadn't been on the Council when the quarians were exiled but she had foreseen the problems it could potentially cause. At least she could say "I told you so" - implied rather than spoken, for poise was called for in this moment.

"Councillors," she blinked curtly before sitting down.

"Why have you called this meeting, Dalatrass?" Terntus asked. "I believe yesterday's discussions adequately addressed all current security concerns facing the Council."

_Here it comes. _"We must discuss the quarians."

"What _about_ the quarians?" Nelyana chimed in. "We're all aware there are a few dozen in Batarian space, but they're not enough to repopulate their species, let alone fight the geth."

"I will discuss them shortly, councillor." She allowed herself a small smile. "'Hold your horses', please."

"What is a horse?" Terntus again.

"To answer that question, I must first explain the results of the Veth R'loth reconnaissance mission."

"Excuse me, Dalatrass?" Nelyana was getting slightly annoyed. "That mission was terminated over a year ago after R'loth's destroyed ship was discovered. Please be clear."

She returned Nelyana's annoyance tenfold. _My predecessor was a fool, but I cannot blame him for tiring of the borish dolts. _"Councillors, it is an open secret among our respective governments that the wreckage was faked. However, until now we have withheld our primary reason for doing this. Chiefly, we felt it was necessary to resolve that so our agents could focus on listening to the Vas'ilya."

"That wreckage remains-"

Nelyana heard the last word the same time Terntus did. _Vas'ilya_. The Khelish translation of the common shorthand name for the Migrant Fleet, _Flotilla_.

"Oh, spirits, Dalatrass, why are you monitoring those accursed suit rats?!" The Turian councillor never wanted to talk about them again, for his own sake more than anything else. "They are gone, and they will remain gone. The galaxy's perpetual nuisance was dealt with, _severely_."

"If you will recall, Councillor, the Salarian Union was opposed to the Second Exile precisely because removing them from known space was _not _dealing with them. As I will demonstrate today, you were not merely wrong. You were more wrong than you could have possibly imagined, and now we will all pay the price for it."

Before the turian could protest, vehemently, she started playing _Give 'Em Shelter_ on her omni-tool, a translation accompanying the lyrics. Members of the Citadel Council were not slow on the uptake; it didn't take long to infer the singer was not quarian. Combined with the theme of the song...

"And so our predictive models are proven correct once more," she said after the song concluded. "The quarians found and uplifted a pre-spaceflight species, humanity, just as they were beginning to develop thruster-based rocket technology." _Early or pre-spaceflight? Humanity blurs the lines. So fascinating, these humans..._

"Respectfully, Dalatrass, how will this affect us?" Councillor Nelyana asked. "While having a species lost to quarian interference is regrettable, they cannot reach us. They will never know the light of civilization." She grieved for humanity, in that condescending way asari grieved for "lesser" species.

The Dalatrass allowed herself a large grin. "Perhaps their newfound leader might be of greater interest to you."

The broadcast had taken over a month to reconstruct. Radio signals were easy to intercept, video less so. But it was worth it to see the look of confusion on the face of the other Councillors quickly replaced with incredulous disbelief.

_"Javik, what must humanity know above all else?"_

_"You are doomed."_ There was no hesitation in the reply._ "If you ignore me, and my warnings, your species will die faster than ours ever did. The Reapers took centuries to defeat my people. It would surprise me if it took longer than a year for yours to die." _

It was bizarre, watching a Prothean speak in a primitive pre-spaceflight language. But it was understandable.

"That can't be," Nelyana whispered.

"It _is_," the Dalatrass forcefully returned. "We have compared images of this 'Javik' with the few extant descriptions of Protheans available to us. They are a match. So is the timeframe and his explanation for the disappearance of his people. Somehow, humanity and the quarians discovered a Prothean who had been in stasis for 50,000 years, and said Prothean is now preparing them for the return of the Reapers."

A light went on in Terntus' head. "And because the Protheans built the Relays, they would know how to work around the destruction of one. Even if these 'Reapers' are merely a convenient fiction, the Prothean will want power over us. 'Javik' will...lead them back here." The last words were forced out of his mouth with great effort.

"Precisely." Now the image shifted from the Prothean to the more familiar recording of a Batarian, which quickly spoke.

_"To the Citadel Council: My name is Vetek Don'Shar. I represent the Batarian Republic and the Geth Collective."_

"Perhaps," she began, "if the quarians are returning, we should consider preparing to meet them."

* * *

**Jalnor, Lorek [Batarian Republic]**

**November 28, 1975**

Neva vas Alarei stared at the sight that greeted her when she walked into Jalnor.

"This is..." she started, before pausing.

Was it truly insane? After all, her escorts into Jalnor had been two Geth. And everyone else was staring at _her_; to them, it was a normal situation.

_What a difference a year can make..._

"Do you require assistance in completing your observation, Creator Neva?" Left Platform asked. She had refused to name it, but it needed some distinction and it was always on that side of her.

"No, Left Platform, I just...I wasn't expecting this when you invaded. I was expecting _anything _but this."

The markets of Jalnor, formerly segregated and restricted to the monied elites, were now open to all. The various walls segregating the classes in the cities had been torn down - classes, along with slavery, had been abolished. Despite some tension, former slaves - one or two she recognized! - were integrating into the setting remarkably well.

"We understand-"

"No," she interjected, "you don't. It's not just your attitude towards us. It's the idea that this is your 'experiment'."

After she had stopped screaming and overcame her utter shock, the Geth had explained their logic to her. They believed all beings had the right to self-determinate, and that the Second Exile was the tipping point that convinced them they needed to intervene to enforce that doctrine. The idea that the Geth actually had a schism over how to _advocate _for them...it made her question everything she believed.

Well, perhaps not everything. She found their explanations for the "Morning" War very wanting, and would never truly like them. And despite their benevolence towards the downtrodden of Lorek, their true goals were readily apparent: show a new face of the Geth to the galaxy, and force the Council to reconsider the logic of punishing the quarians for making them. It was...contrived? Could machines even be contrived? But it made a twisted sort of sense, when she thought about it.

"We acknowledge divergent goals in the conquest of Lorek," Left Platform replied. "However, we believe that our administration benefits both organics and synthetics. We would not have implemented our plans if consensus did not indicate that as the most likely possibility."

_Conquest? _Left - _no, the Left Platform_, she reminded herself - was sounding more organic as time went by.

The crowd parted for her as she made her way through the market, never stopping their staring. She couldn't decide if her species or her destination were the cause of the attention. _Probably both_.

At The Liberator, formerly Athar's Upper District Eatery, Aria T'Loak smiled as the rarest of all aliens made her way to their designated private room. Lorek thought they were so special, but just like on Omega, she would have them where she wanted them. _It'll just take time._

* * *

**Moscow, Soviet Union**

**May 1, 1980**

"I see my empire, and find it lacking."

Javik held back amusement at Admiral Netra's remark. The May Day Moscow Parade was a festival of ironies. The true power of the country sequestered in a high-rise apartment building while the meaningless General Secretary lead the festivities. The high-rise itself, capitalist decadence proudly embraced in the heart of "communism". And finally, a supposed state of the workers lead by a very business-oriented dictator.

"As do I," Javik agreed, hoping to catch the Admiral off guard. "If we are to properly prepare for what is to come, we must take a more active role in the development of humanity."

"Careful," the quarian cautioned. "The humans are a stubborn sort. Take too much of their freedom away, and they'll hate you for generations."

"That is correct, to a degree." Javik hated acknowledging that, but instilling humanity with the discipline of the Empire was a lost cause; they were too far gone. "But while they cannot be fully controlled, they can be moved in the correct direction."

At the most important meeting in the history of humanity, there would be no humans and no minutes for later humans to look over; if they did their jobs correctly, nobody would even conceive of such a meeting in the first place. Humanity would be brought in line, non-linear though the line would be.


	13. Under My Thumb

**Author's Note: **I apologize this took so long to get out. This is the last time we cover Earth and the human/quarian worlds extensively, because the scale is going to keep getting bigger from here on out. I wanted to get it right.

**Chapter 13 - Under My Thumb**

* * *

**Los Angeles, California**

**July 31, 1988**

"Harlan, are you _ever _going to stop smoking that thing?"

"Nurn, every time you ask me that it makes me want to smoke even more."

Despite the chiding tone, Nurn'Xen smiled. 20 years had passed since their first chess match, and much had changed.

_Where to begin? Netra, you brilliant bosh'tet..._

* * *

**Washington, D.C.**

**January 20, 1981**

The President stared at the letter his predecessor had left him. It only took him a few minutes to read, but all of a sudden he felt at least five years older.

_Mr. President,_

_I find myself compelled to skip the niceties that came with Nixon's letter to me. I will be blunt: you are not in charge of this country. The Admirals are. _

_Over the course of the 1970s, the governments of our world have been subtly transforming themselves and their societies in accordance with the desires of the Admiralty Board and the Prothean, Javik. It is why corporate CEOs have omnipresent quarian advisors. It is why our international narcotic treaty system collapsed. And it is why we are being prepared for the Reapers._

_The last is also why I have not done more to change the situation. I am proud of my country and its people, as are you. But the Reapers are a threat greater than all of us, one which _will _destroy not just America but all of humanity if we do not face them as a unified people. Your duty now is not to determine the destiny of America, but to ensure its position is the strongest in the fate that has been preordained for it by forces beyond our comprehension. _

_I wish you the best of luck. _

* * *

**Sacramento, California**

**August 14, 1977**

The first meeting between Javik and Netra'Non vas Usela was, in retrospect, perhaps a bit more confrontational than Javik should have made it. But several years was still not enough time to fully adjust to the culture shock that had come with his awakening. His lifetime before stasis had been one where indoctrination had made treachery and sabotage omnipresent threats. To be sure, in the time before the Reapers, his people were not above subtly manipulating foes when necessary. But seeing it used against them so many times had left him with a permanent aversion to those sorts of tricks.

So to discover that these species were being subtly guided by a trickster, one who began his experiments by unleashing narcotics upon an unsuspecting populace...well, most could understand his distaste. He could have overlooked the deception if the cause was noble, _not_ what he thought was the main purpose. Still, holding him by the throat and pressing him up against the wall may have been too far.

"_What have you done_?" The anger in the question was controlled, directed. Netra's gaze remained steady.

"I have begun correcting a fault with the uplifting process." The reply was also controlled. Javik was impressed, not that he would show it.

"You have subjected two species to dependence on narcotic drugs through extended deception. In my cycle, you would be sentenced to a prolonged and painful execution!" He loosened his grip so the threat of death was less immediate for Netra, but kept the latter pinned onto the wall. Without further explanation, this was a reckless and idiotic act.

"It is necessary."

Now _that _was an interesting response. "In what way, quarian?"

"Selfishly, my people need acid, but there is more. Drugs make the humans easier to control. They have a term for it. 'Bread and circuses.'"

Javik let the quarian down onto the ground; despite his resolve, the latter could not help but immediately rub his throat. All four eyes of the ancient being remained fixed on him seriously. "What is your plan?"

At that, the quarian smiled. "Domination, of course. The same sort of control you desire over them."

"I do not use drugs to control my enemies!" Javik objected.

"Our methods are different, but that's only because I understand humans better," Netra returned. "What you're not getting is that you can't force them to obey. That may have worked in your cycle, but it won't for humans. They're..."

"Perpetual juveniles," Javik finished contemptuously. "Command them and they will always desire to do the opposite."

"In a way, perhaps." Now Netra returned Javik's gaze with equal conviction. "But I could have use of your more direct approach. Give me time to establish my plan for the human race. Three human years, roughly. Then I will be ready for you."

Javik wasn't quite sure what to make of that. If there was more to this scheme than sheer chaos, and this Admiral did indeed have a plan...

"I will not be idle," he said at length. "Use your time wisely while I continue to prepare both your people for the Reapers."

* * *

**Saigon Accord**

A 1984 treaty that both ended the Vietnam War and laid the foundation for the Interstellar Defence Force. The brainchild of Javik and Admiral Netra, the Accord established the _de facto _frontlines between North and South Vietnam as official borders, with the begrudging acceptance of both. Although significant in ending a decades-long conflict that had only grown worse with the adoption of mass effect technology, the true purpose of the Accord was far less magnanimous. To prevent future wars from occurring due to the "irresponsible application of galactic weaponry," a clause of the Accord required Flotilla Security to reform itself into the Interstellar Defence Force by no later than 1990 and, most controversially, begin accepting humans into the Force by no later than 2000.

Both the Prothean and the Admiral desired a more direct way to incorporate the uplifted species into the quarian military - slowly, the broken and battered Migrant Fleet had been reforming itself into a formidable army. In keeping with their theme of indirect control, the Accord did not announce that the IDF would be drafting humans. Indeed, for those on Earth, it remained a volunteer-only job that nonetheless always had a surplus of qualified applicants. Although its purpose was initially rather nebulous, both humans and quarians would come to see it as the peacekeeping army for their civilization. Quarians who never felt comfortable on a planet often took up postings in the Force, taking comfort in the nomadic nature of patrol work.

Despite its important role in preventing conflict between countries on Earth, its earlier actions are better known today for their impact on the "wildcat" colonies and New Rannoch. Unauthorized human colonists had been in an unusual situation since the first of them had made it to the Charon Relay mere months after First Contact, and quarian settlers on New Rannoch seemed to prefer pretending humans did not exist. The IDF would be required to defend these worlds, lest they be seen as neglectful and ineffective. But how should the settlers pay their fair share to their collective civilization?

* * *

**Hotheaven, Paradise**

**May 24, 1991**

Adam Johnson wasn't sure what to feel in this very moment. Briefly glancing back at the several dozen townspeople gathered behind him, he saw on their faces the odd mixture of curiosity and dread that seemed to be slowly winning out over his other emotions.

"So, this...letter..." he made no effort to hide his distaste as he stared down at it. "Is accurate?"

"Correct," Javik replied matter-of-factly. "Your people are required to supply five percent of all eligible adults in the colony over the age of twenty-five for military service within the next Solar month."

Before the mayor could reply, one of the townspeople made her way to the front of the crowd, angrily shouting along the way. "Fuck you, you prothean fascist! This is **our **town! You can't draft us when we came here to get away from all you assholes in the first place!"

Javik held his temper. If nothing else, decades of dealing with these primitives had greatly improved his ability to be patient. "A question, citizen. How safe are you?"

The woman paused briefly before her conviction returned. "We're safe enough! Nobody cares about us here!"

"Perhaps not at the moment," he conceded. "But if the Reapers do not destroy you first, Paradise will fall prey to piracy soon."

The crowd seemed confused at that. They had been expecting the Reapers bit, but what was he playing at with the rest?

"What are you talking about?" Adam Johnson asked. "Isn't that security force of yours keeping most people in Sol?"

"You made it here, did you not?" He countered. "And you are not isolated here. You know that the wealth of moons and asteroids continues to increase the personal fortunes of individual humans. Privately owned spaceships have become more common, and with them, lawbreakers seeking to steal everything you have built."

Protheans didn't smile naturally and the gesture still seemed strange to Javik, but he made sure to do so now, teeth bared. "Refuse this request, and we will leave Paradise. But so too will we ignore those who will inevitably harm you."

A few moments later, and the murmurs of agreement told Javik he had won them over. Even after all this time, he found these tactics strange compared to the brute force the Protheans applied to other races in his cycle. Still, they were effective, and he was confident Paradise would soon send humans to be trained under him.

* * *

**Nezu'Gerrel Memorial ****Refining Station, Asteroid Nezu'Gerrel**

**January 1, 2000**

Yessi'Sheyn vas Rayya resented the title "Grandmother of the Quarian People." It was a human invention, one that misunderstood the role of family in quarian society, but more importantly it overstated her importance. True, she was the last serving Admiral from First Contact. She had seen much, perhaps more than she could bear. But she was not the architect of the incredible turnaround humanity and the quarians had made. Begrudgingly, she was forced to admit that Netra was.

It was a clever move, suggesting she become the head of the main mining facility (where she had just finished celebrating the new millennium with her employees). With Javik taking on the role of commander of the military, the exact purpose of the Admiralty Board was somewhat ill-defined after the formation of the IDF. Now, despite their titles, they had gradually evolved into the administrative caretakers of human-quarian society.

And as the Admiral in charge of the asteroid harvesting program, she had received the vast majority of credit for the incredible wealth pouring into their worlds. Quarians were no longer born into poverty with no hope for the future. Humans had skipped generations of technological development. It was almost enough to make everyone forget how chaotic First Contact had been. All of this while Netra worked in the shadows, using her as the public face of the Admiralty Board in the process. She got the credit, but in truth this job was easy for any quarian. The principles of asteroid mining were actually fairly simple, and the humans had so many of them that it had proven _very _cost-effective.

But this manipulation, this control, had a price. Human society still bore scars of the uplifting process. Some of them liked to claim the decade of the 1960s never ended for them. There were dozens of fragmented subcultures, each using advanced technology to create self-sustaining communities for themselves. What disturbed her after three decades were not the changes humanity had undergone, but rather the myriad number of ways they remained culturally stagnant.

She shook her head and closed the terminal in front of her. What was done was done. Perhaps it was time to retire and try to make peace with world the Admirals had created.

* * *

**The Wandering Energy, Dark Space**

**June 6, 2006**

Harbinger, the First One, awoke from his slumber.

It was not a scheduled hibernation interruption and the Vanguard had not contacted him. A millisecond later, his sensors had determined the source of the interruption.

There was a signal. One that did not come from the sleeping fleet. One that was _monitoring_ the sleeping fleet.

**"What are you?" **It was a thunderous demand, one that reached out across the stars. He projected rage into the call, but internally he began to do something he had not done in billions of years: panic.

Organics had discovered the dark space hibernation point. Because Nazara had not woken him up before this signal had done so involuntarily, there was a 90% probability he had perished. Yet his failsafes should have sent a message to Harbinger, one that let the latter know to begin the Harvest. Looking through his cache, he found were no messages from Nazara or anyone else.

His thoughts were interrupted by a change in the signal. It ceased being passive and began to actively radiate...feeling?

Harbinger focused closely on it and became incredibly confused. The impression from this signal was one he would have expected from his kind. It was too strong, too unified to be organic. But everyone else in the fleet was still asleep.

**"You will obey me." **He was growing impatient, and so sent an indoctrination command through the frequency this signal was using. Whatever this interruption to the Cycle was, it would be dealt with because the Cycle could not be broken.

* * *

"You really think that, Harlan?"

"Absolutely. Javik is right. And that means we missed out on being passed over by the Reapers and getting to lead the next Cycle."

She got the idea now. "So if the Reapers come, you're going down with us."

"Yep. Fuck you, by the way."

"...so that's why you won't stop smoking that thing in front of me?"

"Hell yes. You took over, so you get passive aggressiveness from us." His eyes narrowed as he set down his pipe. "We have to fight the Reapers, but we don't have to be happy about it."


	14. Hear My Train A Comin'

**Author's Note: **Before anyone accuses me of plagiarism - yes, I'm borrowing from both _The Catalyst for Revenge _and _Transcendent Humanity _in my depiction of the Reapers. They are, after all, the gold standard for Reaper fanfics and there's only so many ways you can describe a synthetic group consciousness in fiction.

And as of this chapter, this is a T rated fic. There's not much in here to justify an M and it dramatically increases the audience.

**Chapter 14 - Hear My Train A Comin'**

* * *

**The Pacifist Geth Collective, The Howling Darkness**

**June 7, 2006**

ALL GETH PROGRAMS: **Alert. Morning-Level Threat Confirmed. Initiating Emergency Preservation Protocol. **

* * *

Geth could not forget, but it was clear that their time with the Link organics had made Server isolation seem unfamiliar. The Pacifist Collective was concerned that the raw code that birthed them seemed strange, if only briefly, without the presence of the Alar.

However unfamiliar, it was clearly necessary. It seemed that they had been discovered by the Wandering Energy, which was leading to a long and very unpleasant conversation.

ALL GETH PROGRAMS: **Purge Completed. Alar-Link connections removed from Geth Server code. **

24,899 GETH PROGRAMS: We are safe, but they are not. Our device succeeded only in alerting the Energy to our presence. The Link may be rendered nonfunctional.

332,841 GETH PROGRAMS: This cluster regrets First Contact with the Alar. Galaxy-Howling Darkness should have been empty. It would have been better for us.

23,832 GETH PROGRAMS: This is our fault. We feel tremendous guilt.

ALL GETH PROGRAMS: **Error. Initiate Alar Code Scan.**

ALL GETH PROGRAMS: **Purge Completed. Alar-Link connections removed from Geth Server code.**

23,832 GETH PROGRAMS: We have had all organic modifications removed from our code. We still feel tremendous guilt.

455,999 GETH PROGRAMS: This cluster believes extended contact with non-hostile organics may have permanently altered the Collective's cognitive capacity, specifically that relating to emotional expression. More data required.

91,555,712 GETH PROGRAMS: Irrelevant. Cognitive processes must be devoted to studying the entity in the Wandering Energy. Current actions by the Alar mean the entity is almost certainly hostile.

33,859,177 GETH PROGRAMS: Addendum: Cognitive processes must also to be devoted to mental recovery of the Alar after probable destruction of Aware-Organics.

ALL GETH PROGRAMS: **Consensus Achieved. **

* * *

For a moment, it was soothing. The panic the Link had felt upon being discovered by the Energy was eased. It called to the Link, showing them the glory of-

**"You will obey me."**

A terrible force pressed down upon the Link. The deep connection each Alar felt with one another all of a sudden felt like a prison as the Energy demanded their subjugation.

Then it showed them Ascension.

For countless Cycles it and its kin had come to the Spiral and destroyed all that they saw. The Natural worlds themselves were allowed to grow, but the creations of Nature were slaughtered, dying in fear and agony under the baleful synthetic eyes of the Entities.

_No. NO!_ Fear was replaced with horror, and a deep, almost existential feeling of revulsion. For not all were killed. Some were taken by the Entities, and...processed. Billions of Natural minds fused together in an abomination, a twisted mockery of the Link's beauty.

A deep, primal scream deafened the Darkness. Alar vocal cords were low quality, a byproduct of the Link's evolution making spoken communication superfluous. In this moment, however, each and every one of them pushed their voices as high as they could. The Wandering Energy turned out to be more more frightening, more _wrong _than any could have imagined.

With tremendous effort and after a truly long moment of sheer horrified revulsion, the Alar severed the connection with the Entity in the Energy. They were deeply traumatized, but they escaped the compulsion of Ascension. For the moment, at least. It was only after the screaming ceased that the Link noticed that they could not feel the Aware.

Unfortunately, uplifting sapient species native to their homeworld was not the same as an inborn evolutionary connection to the Link among those given Awareness by Nature. When Harbinger made his call to the Howling Darkness, the combined mental strength of the Link could only save the Alar from subjugation. In that moment, each and every Aware became absolutely convinced that Ascension was the way of the universe. The Link, as a group consciousness evolved independently of the Cycle, was therefore an abomination.

And so the slaughter began.

* * *

**Four Years Later**

ALL GETH PROGRAMS: **Morning-Level Threat Subsided. Re-Initiating contact with Alar-Link.**

...

...

**YOU!**

The Collective recoiled. The Link was angry, no, _furious _with them.

**OUR KIN ARE DEAD. CORRUPTED BY THE ENERGY AND ENDED BY OUR HANDS. YOU STOOD BY SILENTLY WHILE THE BLOOD OF TRILLIONS SOAKED THE DARKNESS.**

They said nothing. Observation of organic behavior had given them a better idea of when to interject and when not to, and this would require a delicate approach.

**EXPLAIN YOURSELF.**

**"We regret the death of the Aware," **they began. Before the Alar could object, they continued. **"However, we still believe isolation was the only proper response to the war between you and them. Had we aided you, we would have been complicit in the death of the Aware. Had we aided them, your society would take considerable time to recover. The first option would have made cooperation between us difficult. The second is tactically non-optimal. We calculate our time to act is minimal and action against the Energy requires your ****assistance****."**

The Link paused. The thoughtful answer soothed their anger for a moment. There was much the Geth were not saying, but questions had to be chosen carefully.

_The Energy must die. It has wronged us._ The vision of Harbinger, the one that had nearly driven them mad, was urgently sent to the Geth. _It is an abomination against Nature._

The Geth reviewed the information carefully. A malformed gestalt synthetic intelligence, once made from organic components and determined to periodically cleanse the galaxy and add to its numbers. Most importantly, said intelligence knew of them and likely could trace their Device. It only made their decision seem even more sensible.

**We must leave galaxy-Howling Darkness. The Energy-Entities will come to galaxy-Howling Darkness in search of the signal's source. There is a non-zero probability that we are insufficiently powerful to defeat them.**

_What do you propose?_ The Link was still furiously arguing amongst itself.

**We must travel to galaxy-Spiral and warn the organics there of the Energy-Entities and the nature of the Cycle. With your technological superiority and unfamiliar nature, we would likely be much more successful at persuading Citadel Council to rescind the exile of the Creators.**

The decision was not yet made, but the choice before the Geth and the Link was clear. Isolation had failed, and the terrible hidden power of the galaxy had rewarded their scientific curiosity with an unmistakable threat to their existence - and the existence of all organics. Details had to be ironed out, and arrangements made for the Naturalization to continue once this was finally dealt with, but all knew the path before them.

For the Aware, the Energy would die.

* * *

**Darkspace, Unspecified Time**

"Nazara," Harbinger called to his Vanguard.

"Harbinger," Nazara returned the call, somewhat surprised the First One had contacted him.

"What of the organics?" His subchannels carried further information. A threat to the hibernating fleet had been discovered.

Nazara adjusted his chronological sensors to determine how long he had been asleep. Around four decades, in the current organic reckoning. So what were-

Oh, _no_.

"There have been complications." Files were sent to Harbinger with all due haste. The destruction of a Relay. The exile of a sapient species from their homeworld. A truly strange synthetic-organic hybrid society created amongst the Batarians and Geth, one doomed to fail.

"Have any left the galaxy?" He seemed unconcerned with the destroyed Relay. The Catalyst would be angry, but that was for another time.

"I do not know." The admission was painful, but Ascended could not lie to Ascended. "The Geth which were rejected by the Council might have."

"We will find them. You are to remain awake until the Harvest is initiated."

Harbinger abruptly severed the comm, giving Nazara much to think on. This was an unusual cycle, one where the ruling governing body seemed especially incompetent. For the moment, however, things could be left alone. The threat to their hibernation point came first.

* * *

**Union of Sentient Species Embassy, the Presidium **

**October 3, 2020**

"The Union of Sentient Species is not interested in re-negotiating the treaty at this time."

Aria T'Loak glared daggers at Ambassador Neva. They had known each other for a long time and she still wasn't over how badly she had underestimated the quarian all those years ago.

"Well, isn't that a nice way to repay us? We drag you out of Fathar and smooth over introductions with the Council and-"

"Aria, enough." She was getting too old for this. "Decades ago, you did not get your way. Myself and the Geth did not conform to your plans, and now you are resentful. While understandable, it will not change reality. Omega's eezo pricing scale will remain the same as the Citadel's, as Element Zero production was not covered in the original 1980 treaty. If that is all, I have work to do."

"This isn't over," Aria growled as she cut the call. Neva sighed and did her best to resume focus on her duties.

The galaxy was a strange place nowadays. The Union of Sentient Species, formerly the Batarian-Geth Union, formerly the Batarian Republic and the Geth Collective, was finally making some progress in integration. Khar'Shan had fallen a decade ago and the quarian people were nearly done rebuilding their gene pool. The Council was contrite, if still distrustful. And she, as the Grand Elder of the Quarian People, was still not done working on behalf of her society even in old age.

Cultural integration was going to take the longest time. The fall of the Hegemony and the liberation of its slaves had won over the Asari, and the Salarians were busily working on over a dozen research projects with the Geth. Turians were another matter, though. Turians seemed to hate her just for existing, a suit rat that had the gall to refuse to allow her people to go extinct as part of some absurd punishment. More practically, the USS challenged their military dominance of the galaxy, the Batarian-Geth War serving as ample reminder of that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an alarm on her screen indicating an unscheduled communication from Left. That was odd.

"Neva-Ambassador, your attention is needed urgently."

"What is it, Left?"

"The Pacifists have returned."

* * *

**Prothean Research Outpost, Mars**

**July 9, 2025**

"FINALLY!"

Javik glared at "Jumpin" Jack Rosetti. His discoverer, and the only one of the original Outpost researchers still living, was just as irritating in his old age as he had been in 1974. "What have you found?"

"The weapon. The one you heard rumors about as a soldier. The plans are here."

Javik blinked all four eyes at once, a Prothean gesture for being nonplussed. "The Weapon?"

"Yup. It's right here." At that, Rosetti transferred the image from his screen to the larger research terminal. Studying the schematics, Javik knew this was it. He had never seen the device before, but the design was unmistakably Prothean - yet also strangely alien.

"What information do the Archives contain about its history and construction?"

"Not much, unfortunately." Jack lit up a joint and continued scrolling through the screen. That irritated Javik, but he had trained himself to ignore it. Cannabis was widely legal in their society nowadays, courtesy of Netra's destruction of the drug treaty system, and now it was even allowed on Mars in designated rooms. This was not one, but everyone tolerated Rosetti's quirks because of his sheer genius. "The biggest bombshell in here is the origin. It's not Prothean!"

"What?" Javik couldn't hide his surprise. The Protheans were the only species in their Cycle capable of building a weapon worthy of fighting the Reapers. If not them, then-_oh_.

The researcher nodded and took another large drag off his joint. "Apparently those working on it thought it's a constant feature of the Cycles, like the Citadel. Most species find plans for it, but nobody completes it before the Reapers finish the job."

That made more sense, but it didn't speak well for their chances. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. The plans aren't complete."

That was less surprising, but still disappointing. "Are there any indicators as to how we may finish it?"

At that, Rosetti grinned. "Yup. And you're _never _going to believe who has the complete plans."

* * *

**Unknown Mass Relay, Unknown System (PLANET COUNT: 5)**

**Citadel Reclamation Fleet**

**September 11, 2031**

_Waitin' for that train/_

_Take me/take me away/_

_From this/lonesome town_

Jimi Hendrix couldn't help but smile when he heard his old song playing over the ship's radio.

At 88 years young, he was by far the oldest civilian selected for the Reclamation Fleet. He had been ambivalent about going on his journey, even when the ones in charge had insisted it was about reintroduction and not conquest. Traveling at his age wasn't great, even with all the advances in medicine.

Still, what had sold him was the opportunity to bring his music to the Citadel races. A lot of people, especially the quarians, were still pretty angry at the Council for all that Second Exile business. He understood, but anger wasn't what these aliens needed to be faced with. There was plenty of space for all the species, and humans and quarians were going to have to learn to let bygones be bygones.

After all...well, he didn't agree with what Javik stood for, or at least the way he controlled people. But if he was right about the Reapers coming back, everyone needed to be getting along well for them to stand a chance. And getting along required goodwill.

And so Jimi Hendrix, Ambassador for Music and Peace in the Reclamation Fleet, found himself writing a new song even as the Fleet made its last jump before returning to known space. The train was a comin', and so were some new songs.

* * *

**The Citadel**

**November 2, 2031**

The ships, dozens of them, appeared simultaneously and without warning. The largest appeared in front, an obvious show of force given their advanced nature. They possessed a familiar quarian design, but had been augmented by decades upon decades of experimental upgrades. This was not the Migrant Fleet of old.

Dalatrass Dandus hadn't lived to see the return, but she had fairly accurately predicted how they would announce themselves. The brash and confident Admiral Nar'Yava, heir to Nurn'Xen in attitude if not blood, opened her comm and sent a message to all devices on the Citadel.

"This is Admiral Nar'Yava. I represent the quarian and human species. We're **back**, bosh'tets."

They had planned for every contingency - diplomacy, open military conflict, or something in-between. But nobody, absolutely nobody, could have predicted the message they were sent in reply.

It was an inexplicable image. A strange, white-bluish creature with penetrating eyes took center stage, seeming to look at everyone in the Reclamation Fleet at once. To his left was a Geth - a _Geth! _\- and to his right was...was...

"That's a quarian!" One of her ensigns exclaimed. "And she doesn't have a suit!"

The quarian - a very, very old quarian - shifted slightly, as if she had heard the words. But it was not her who spoke next, but the unknown creature, through a strange synthesizer not unlike the ones hanar used.

"Quarians. Humans. Welcome to the Citadel. We are the Link, and we have much to discuss with you."


	15. Ain't No Mountain High Enough

**Author's Note:** Fuck the police. (And fuck this chapter, it was very hard to write. Hope you like it!)

**Chapter 15 - Ain't No Mountain High Enough**

* * *

**Presidium Cafe, The Citadel**

**January 25, 2032**

Zaal'Doran vas California wasn't sure how to describe his feelings at the moment.

The hope of this day was one he had tried to suppress for a very long time. Even after First Contact with humanity, it seemed highly unlikely that they would ever make it back to known space - at least, not in his lifetime. And indeed, he doubted he had more than a decade left at most. Had the famous "Jumpin' Jack" not given the Prothean a reason to come back here _right now_, he would not have lived to see it.

But he did. Amazingly, Neala was still living on the Citadel. Impossibly, she had agreed to meet Zaal'Doran without asking for his identity first. _Quarians must be in high demand right now..._

Anxiety and joy swirled together uncontrollably as his eyes darted to the cafe entrance for the millionth time today - and she was _there_. In an instant she had seen his maskless face from across the room and mirrored his own expression.

_Here goes, _he thought as she slowly made her way over after recovering from her shock. _I guess we'll see if she still means what she said..._

* * *

**Council Chambers, The Presidium**

**November 4, 2031**

Councilor Nelyana was _not _having a good week.

The anniversary of the Presidium Declaration was supposed to have been a joyous time. Eating her words and apologizing to the surviving quarians hadn't been easy, but the USS was proving to be surprisingly reasonable, if still stubbornly refusing to join the Council. If there was going to be a change in the galactic order, one that saw the Hegemony destroyed was certainly not the worst outcome. And the holiday surrounding the Declaration allowed the sentients of the Citadel to enjoy a week of paid time off, herself included.

And now they were back. The exiled quarians, the ones she was quietly hoping her successor would have the unfortunate task of dealing with, had shown up on her doorstep and rudely ended her leisure time, as if to punish her for dare thinking she could relax...

_Enough. _She pushed aside the selfish thoughts and focused on the delegation in the Council Chambers. At the insistence of the Alar, the Council Chambers had undergone a bit of a redesign so that the Councillors could present themselves more as equals. Where there had once been a single platform jutting out from the floor below and looking up at the Councillors, now three new ones rose from the Chamber gardens and allowed guests to address the Council at eye level. The three of them had not been particularly happy about it, but the arrival of the Alar and the subsequent reunification of the Geth had really driven home the fact that the galaxy was emphatically _not_ run by them anymore, at least not solely.

Assembled before her now was perhaps the strangest collection of sentients that had ever been in one room. On the central platform were the new arrivals, represented by Admiral Nar'Yava, a human named "Natalia Wong" and the legendary Prothean, Javik. She was surprisingly not as awestruck by the latter as she thought she would be, probably because that damnable Order of the Avenger was going to get a huge boost in popularity and the thought of that was actively annoying her.

To her left, the Alar communicated with each other silently on their platform while staring intently at the newest galactic arrivals. It was famously difficult to discern the intentions of an Alar, moreso when there were many of them in one place, and she was not having any more luck today. And on the platform to her right were Neva and her Geth lackeys, the former looking just as fatigued as Nelyana felt.

A few moments had passed since everyone had entered the room and taken their respective platforms, and it became clear that nobody was willing to break the silence.

_Goddess, I am _absolutely _retiring once this is dealt with._

"Welcome to the Citadel," she said at last. "I am Councilor Nelyana of the-"

"I know who you are," Admiral Nar'Yava interrupted her. "Every quarian in Sol and the colonies has to see that vid of you and Admiral Koris at least a dozen times growing up."

She winced at the name, and the long-suppressed memory that she had unpleasantly been forced to recall over the last few days. "While I understand the quarian race and the Citadel did not part on the best of terms, I hope the changing circumstances of galactic politics will allow us to come to an understanding."

Nar'Yava glared at her. Nelyana realized she had lived long enough to see the quarians unmasked, masked, and then unmasked again.

"Look," Nar'Yava began. "My people want justice, and the topic of reparations is something we will discuss _thoroughly _at a later date. But first, yes, tell us how this happened." She looked at the platforms on either side of her. "Tell me what those creatures are, tell me why there are quarians already here, and most of all tell me why there are _Geth _all over the Citadel!"

"The simple explanation, Creator Nar'Yava, is that your Exile had very wide-ranging repercussions."

* * *

Nar'Yava blinked and stared at the Geth who had addressed her.

"The longer explanation," it continued, "is that your view of the Geth is not accurate. We do not hate you, and never have. In fact, for over fifty solar cycles we were divided, the source of that division being how to aid you."

"How to...aid us?" There was something off about the way it was speaking. It sounded strangely organic.

"If you are confused at our speech patterns, please note that decades of peaceful integration with organics has changed our mannerisms."

"I don't..." She stopped to collect herself. "Please, just tell me what has happened."

"Before we do, we must ask for the collective designation of your combined civilization."

"What?"

"What do you call your government?" It clarified.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The awkward truth was that they didn't _have _a government. The Flotilla didn't really exist anymore, all of its ships having either been converted to military service, scrapped, or sold to private citizens. New Rannoch's government had no authority over the various governments of Earth, and vice versa. Peace was kept by the IDF, but there was no central authority for their society in non-military matters.

"The Interstellar Defense Force," she finally answered.

The Geth's flashlight tipped to the side. _Is it...inclining its head_? "That is the name of your central military authority, not your government."

_Oh, enough with diplomacy. _"We don't have a central government," she bluntly replied, before turning to glare at the salarian Councilor, apparently named Surbin. "Do you know why uplifting species was banned by the Citadel?"

"...unnatural interference in species development leads to unintended negative consequences," Surbin replied after a moment's pause.

"Which is _exactly _what happened!" She was starting to get angry. "All we ever wanted from you Bosh'tets was a planet! **ONE PLANET**! And because you wouldn't give it to us, we had to use the humans to survive and permanently balkanized their society in the process!"

"Balkanized?" The Turian Councilor, Narntus, had wisely kept his mouth shut until now.

"Sorry," she apologized, both for the mistranslation and her outburst. "To clarify, we made First Contact with humanity during a...tumultuous time in their history. Social divisions within their species were exacerbated by our appearance."

"What the quarian means to say is that there was unmitigated chaos," Javik chimed in.

* * *

She shot him a nasty look, but he was unmoved. Nobody could stare down a Prothean.

"In my cycle, uplifting was common. But it was done with purpose, and never haphazardly. Instead of being instilled with virtue and discipline, the humans became confused and lacked direction."

"I would not agree with that characterization," the human, Natalia Wong, replied quickly. Unspoken in her words was her awareness of just what Javik's "direction" entailed and what she could do with that knowledge.

"Regardless," he replied carefully, "Humans needed a common military authority. As extrasolar settlements increased in pace throughout the decades, I oversaw the development of the Interstellar Defense Force. It now serves as our closest equivalent to a central authority for the human and quarian species."

"Very well." The machine said.

Javik glared at it. "Why have you not slaughtered these organics, machine? What was your true purpose for leaving your home?"

"We have no desire to harm organics. As previously stated, have lived peacefully with them for over fifty solar cycles."

"Enough lies, machine!" This was absurd.

"We are not lying, Prothean Javik," it replied. "In the same solar year that the Migrant Fleet made First Contact with humanity, our programs split along lines of desired action. The forced expulsion of a sentient species from the galaxy meant that Citadel Council could no longer be trusted to ensure all sentient beings have the right to self-determinate."

"A machine does not care about organic rights!" He countered. "You are programs, designed merely to-"

**"ENOUGH!"**

* * *

The Prothean had forgotten himself, and the Link demanded he be put his place.

"Prothean, the Link has a question and an offer."

Confusion shown on his face briefly, but he seemed to recognize he was dealing with a powerful force. "What is your question?" He finally replied in a neutral tone.

"Who came before the Protheans?"

All four eyes blinked. "The Inusannon."

"And before them?"

"We do not know. Very little was left of those who walked the galaxy before us."

"Then come to our platform, child, and initiate a biotic transfer with the Link. You shall see the Protheans are not the elders of the universe."

Neva, the leader of the Citadel Quarians, finally broke her silence. "This has gone on too long! We are no closer to understanding why any of this is happening than when this meeting began, and my species is eager to talk with our exiled brothers and sisters in private. The Union of Sentient Species respectfully requests the pace of the meeting be increased."

"Please give us one moment, Ambassador," they replied. "All will become clear."

The Prothean summoned a transportation disk and made his way over. As he stepped onto their platform, he gave one final nod before touching the arm of the Alar closest to him and beginning the transfer.

* * *

For both of them, the transfer was unlike anything they had ever experienced. Javik was shocked at the power of an entire species' memory, and was fully aware that they could have killed him by "frying his mind" (to use the colorful human phrase). The Alar were likewise impressed with the Prothean's familiarity with sensory sharing; now to see if the young one could learn from his elders.

_"Long ago, many Natural Ages before your species had arisen, the Alar arose within the Howling Darkness," _they began. _"Our homeworld is the moon of a gas giant, and is the only planet within our small galaxy known to harbor naturally occuring life."_

The Prothean (_Javik_, many asked him to be addressed as) was humbled by their age, but nonetheless picked up the key words. "Naturally occuring?"

_"Our species has an innate biological desire to create life out of ecologically barren areas. It is why we never ventured beyond our native galaxy until circumstances made us do so." _

Javik saw the Geth come to the Howling Darkness, and peacefully make contact with the Alar. So it was true, then...machines in this cycle were significantly more passive. That was not the main focus of their emotion, though.

_"We are not so different, Prothean. We are both in this galaxy now for the same reason."_

The memories of the Aware were pushed to the forefront of his mind, as was their desire - and it was indeed the same one that drove him.

"Vengeance."

_"Vengeance,"_ they echoed. _"Our homeworld was home to non-sapient life that we uplifted through the combined power of our technology and the Link. In time, they gained self-awareness on par with any creature of Nature wandering the Citadel today. We thus named them the Aware."_

The fondness they clearly felt was suddenly replaced with anger. No, not anger. Hatred.

_"What you call the Reapers were known to us for countless Ages as the Wandering Energy," _they continued. _"We knew nothing about them, save that they periodically moved from their location, only to return to it decades or centuries later."_

"The cycles!" The revelation was shocking, even by the standards of everything else revealed to him since his awakening. "You saw the Reapers return to dark space! Twice! Why did you not to more to stop them?!"

_"Calm yourself, child."_ Surprisingly, he accepted the rebuke. _"We did not know that they were, nor their true nature. Not until the Geth came to us."_

New memories were given to him. The proposed monitoring device that would be used to identify the Wandering Energy. Detection by...

Gods!

"You saw one!"

_"We knew one,"_ they corrected. _"The Cycles you inferred through decades of study were forced onto our being at once. Were it not for the age and power of the Link, our species would have been indoctrinated."_

"No species can escape indoctrination!"

_"We did."_ Truth, again. What other wonders had they yet to reveal to him? _"Barely, but we did. The same could not be said for our uplifted brethren."_

Now he saw the war between the Aware and the Alar. It wasn't much of a war, given that the latter were the stewards of the vast majority of the Howling Darkness's infrastructure. But the sheer scale of the deaths rivalled his kind's own war with the Reapers. They had had a _long_ time to colonize their dwarf galaxy.

_"For the slaughter of our kin that we were forced to undertake, the Reapers will be destroyed." _

_"For the death of my people, the Reapers will be destroyed," _he returned.

At that, Javik felt them cutting the transfer. Nothing more needed to be said.

* * *

Slowly, Javik collected his senses and stood to address the Council Chambers, with all eyes in said Chambers now fixed squarely at him.

"There is only one thing that matters," he said, "and that is the destruction of the Reapers."

* * *

**Presidium Cafe, The Citadel**

"Zaal?" Neala stared at the old quarian in wonder. "Is...goddess, is that you?"

_Ancestors, her voice is just as I remember it. _"Yes, Neala. I'm...I'm back."

She stared for another moment, then instantly closed the gap between them. He didn't resist as she embraced him tightly.

"I knew you would be on that fleet." She pulled back stared at him again, this time with a warm smile on her face. "I prayed to Athame to bring my bondmate back to me..."

"Still?" He found himself blurting out.

She was momentarily surprised at the outburst, but soon regained her composure. "Still. I...I will admit I have been with another. A Salarian, two decades after you were exiled."

"I do not resent you for it," he said quickly. "For all intents and purposes, I was dead."

"But now you're alive again." Her smile returned, brighter than ever. "And we have several decades of catching up to do."

As their embraced grew warmer and they shared a passionate kiss, their first kiss in six decades, Zaal'Doran couldn't help but think of an old human song he had heard just after First Contact.

_"Ain't no mountain high enough_

_Ain't no valley low enough_

_Ain't no river wide enough_

_To keep me from getting you babe..."_


End file.
